LIBRARY 


.- 

] 


PRESENTED  BY 


ELIZABETH  HARD  I  SON 


ii^P^ 

Wife* 


a~  i  ME. 

"  The  mill  will  never  grind  with  the  water  that  has  past," 

Page,  30. 


3ivd:  c  C3-  O  "V  EJ  ^?<  3ST, 

(or  THE  CHICAGO  TRIBUNE.)       ' 


AUTHOR  OF  "HISTORY   OF   COMMUNISM,"  "WORLDS  WITHOUT    END,"  "CROWN 
JEWELS."  "A   PASTORAL  POEM,"  ETC 


old  by  IfubAcription  0nlt|. 


UNION  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

CHICAGO,  ILL. 

COLUMBUS,  OHIO.  KANSAS  CITY,  MO. 

MINNEAPOLIS,  MINN. 

1  88*. 


COPYRIGHTED   BY 

M.  B.  DOWNER  &  F.  C.  SMEDLEY, 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 
1881—1882. 


I  take  pleasure  in  laying  before  my  readers  a 
volume  the  aim  of  which  is  to  lighten  the  cares  of 
to-day  and  heighten  the  hopes  of  to-morrow.  Every 
human  aspiration  which  is  not  an  ignis  fatuus  or 
fool's  beacon  is  built  on  the  realities  of  to-day.  Every 
young  person  evincing  talents  in  any  direction  hears 
predictions  which  are  alone  built  on  what  he  is  doing 
at  present.  He  takes  this  hope  and  redoubles  his 
efforts.  He  usually  succeeds — therefore,  the  inher- 
ited universality  of  hope. 

Looking  thus  upon  hope  as  a  beautiful  edifice 
rising  above  the  foundations  of  our  lives,  I  have 
striven  to  give  my  special  attention  to  the  duties 
of  to-day,  those  stones  whereon  the  structure  is 
reared,  that  the  first  cruel  tempest  of  adversity  may 
not  transport  an  unsubstantial  fabric,  like  the  palace 
of  Aladdin,  into  the  deserts  of  despair. 

I    have  also  tried  to  show  that  the  lesson,  so 

true  in  a  proper  view  of  this  life,  is  also  applicable 

[3] 


4  PREFACE. 

to  the  far  grander  vista  of  eternity  which,  in  the 
mind  of  philosopher  as  well  as  divine,  lies  so  clearly 
before  us. 

In  a  Hard-Pan  Series  of  ten  chapters  I  have 
endeavored  to  point  out,  to  the  young  men  just 
starting  in  practical  life,  some  things  less  general  in 
their  scope  than  the  other  thoughts  spread  forth  in 
the  book.  The  necessity  of  arming  our  youth  with 
those  qualities  which  lead  to  business  success  has 
made  me  confident  that  this  attempt  would  be  ap- 
proved by  the  general  reader.. 

Wherever  a  writer  versed  in  the  deep  myster- 
ies of  the  heart  has  left  his  thoughts  on  record,  and 
they  have  fallen  under  my  eye,  I  have  eagerly 
chained  them  to  my  humble  chariot,  always,  when 
possible,  giving  the  authorship  of  the  idea.  The 
value  of  a  thoroughly  good  admonition  is  frequently 
enhanced  by  the  knowledge  that  it  comes  from  the 
mouth  of  a  thoroughly  good  man. 


<sy 


The  Hopes  of  To-Morrow  Must  Have  a  Foundation  in  what  We  Are 
Doing  To-Day — The  same  Thing  True  of  Our  Hopes  of  the  Next  Life — 
The  Hard-Pan  Series Page  3. 


The  Golden  Censer  which  Hangs  in  the  Temple  of  Life  —  The  Palace  of 
the  Soul  —  The  Alarm-Bell  Called  Conscience  —  George  Washington  —  The 
Soldier  in  Battle  —  Goldsmith's  Pastor  —  Duty  the  Reason  for  Living  —  Duty 
the  Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God  —  Victor  Hugo's  Maxim  —  A  Cele- 
brated Piece  of  Verse  .....  ....  Page  21. 


of 


We  Are  Old  Before  We  Know  It  —  We  are  Then  Shocked  and  Regretful 
—Need  of  Impressing  the  Young  with  This  Truth  —  A  Golden  Thought  — 
How  We  Learned  to  Read  —  Lorena  —  Coal-Oil  Johnny  —  Get  Interest  on 
Your  Own  Money  Instead  of  Paying  Interest  on  Other  People's  —  You  Thus 
Save  Double  Interest  —  You  Wish  to  Succeed  —  Put  out  Your  Ideas  at  Inter- 

est —  "  Lost  !  "  an  Advertisement  —  Haste  and  Waste  —  Get  to  Bed  Early  and 

[5] 


6  CONTENTS. 

Cheat  Rheumatism  and  Neuralgia  —  Time  the  Corrector  of  Fools  —  The  Mill 
Never  Grinds  with  the  Water  that  Has  Gone  Past.     .         .        .        Page  25. 


Byron,  Thomson,  and  Payne's  Sweet  Thoughts  —  A  Grand  Thought  in  a 
Grand  Syllable  —  The  Murderer  in  His  Cell  —  The  Letter  from  Home  —  The 
Thatch  of  Avarice  —  The  Man  Who  Wrote  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  Had  no 
Home  —  Dr.  Johnson  —  The  Halo  that  Surrounds  the  Word  —  The  Long-Ago 
is  Hidden  in  It  —  Rembrandt  and  His  Sister  —  Dickens  —  The  Cottage  of  a 
Godly  Man  —  Kings  Have  no  Homes  —  Democritus  —  The  Old  Home  Was 
Happy  Because  We  Were  Shielded  —  We  Must,  in  Our  Turn,  Shield  the 
Little  Ones  —  Suffer  Little  Children  —  Get  a  Home  —  See  that  Your  Children 
Get  Settled  ...........  Page  31. 


o| 


Thoughts  Intended  Especially  for  Their  Ears  —  Children  a  Blessing  — 
Through  Our  Children  We  Become  Immortal  on  the  Earth  —  Shakspeare  — 
How  Character  is  Built  Up  —  Good  Example  —  Father  and  Son  —  Starting  the 
Boys  and  the  Girls  —  The  Daughter  —  Do  not  Blight  Her  Life  —  Happy  Wives 
and  Mothers  —  "  Thanking  Death  "  —  Education  of  the  Young  —  The  Power 
and  Beauty  of  the  Bible  —  Bible,  Shakspeare,  and  Geography  More  Neces- 
sary than  Grammar,  Botany,  and  Latin  —  Worship  —  A  Suspicious  Parent  — 
The  School-Master  Experience  —  Try  and  Cut  Down  the  Extent  of  His 
Services  in  the  Education  of  Your  Child  ......  Page  42. 


The  Noble  Brother  Will  Have  a  Noble  Sister—  The  Young  Man  of  High 
Tone  Will  See  to  It  that  His  Sister  is  Treated  with  Respect—  He  Sets  the 
Example  to  All  Others  —  Utter  Selfishness  of  a  Young  Man  Who  Drags 


CONTENTS.  7 

Down  His  Sister  by  Falling  into  Bad  Society  Himself — The  Summer  Vaca- 
tion— Why  a  "Crooked  Stick"  Has  Been  Picked  up  By  the  Sister — Your 
Sister  Your  Other  Half — Watch  He/  and  Mend  Your  Weak  Places— A  Quick 
Temper — Scene  in  a  Field  Near  Stone  River  Battle-field — The  Sister's  In- 
fluence on  Your  Fortunes — Brother  and  Sister  as  the  Two  Heads  of  One 
Home .  ...  Page  53. 


"Heaven  Lies  About  Us  in  Our  Infancy"  —  The  Great  History  Written 
by  Thiers,  and  Its  Central  Thought  —  The  Impressibility  of  Youth  —  Much 
Can  Be  Accomplished  in  Youth  —  Alexander,  Caesar,  Pompey,  Hannibal 
Scipio,  Napoleon,  Charles  XII,  Alexander  Hamilton,  Shelley,  Keats,  Bryant 

—  Youth  Our  Italy  and  Greece,  full  of  Gods  and  Temples  —  Edmund  Burke 

—  Rochefoucauld  —  Chesterfield  —  Lord  Lytton*e  Love  of  Youth  —  Shortness 
of  Youthful  Griefs  —  Hannah  More  —  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  Wise  Remark  — 
The  Extraordinary  Expectations  of  Youth  —  Dr.  Watts  —  Story  of  the  Alpena 

—  Lord  Bacon's  Summing  up  of  the  Differences  Between  Youth  and  Age  — 
Introduction  to  the  Hard-Pan  Series.          .....        Page  62. 


-i/H  Speech. 


Need  of  Money  —  Difficulty  of  Getting  It  —  Testimony  of-ihe  Closest 
Mouthed  Man  Who  Perhaps  Ever  Lived  —  "No  Man  Can  Be  Happy  or  Even 
Honest  Without  a  Moderate  Independence  "  —  You  Find  Yourself  Behind  a 
Counter  —  The  Little  Boy's  Shoes  Wear  Out  at  the  Toe  —  They  are  There- 
fore Copper-plated  —  The  Young  Man's  Common  Sense  Gives  Wray  at  the 
Tip  of  His  Tongue  —  Difficulties  in  the  Way  of  a  Boy  Who  "Blabs"  —  A 
Man  Who  Is  "Pumped"  Like  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  Must  Have 
Praoticed  Silence  All  His  Life  —  Story  of  the  Barber  of  King  Midas  —  Beware 


8  CONTENTS. 

of  the  First  Error — How    Things   Leak  out — Put  a  Copper-Toe  on  Your 
Tongue .         Page  74. 


Courtesy  Rests  on  a  Deep  Foundation — He  Who  is  Naturally  Polite  is 
Naturally  Moral — You  Wish  to  Have  Your  Customers  Brighten  up — Brighten 
up  Yourself — What  is  Good-Breeding? — Read  Chesterfield — Study  Your 
Customer — You  are  Young  and  Positive — Be  Careful  on  That  Account — Your 
Hands — Jewelry — Act  Respectfully  and  You  Will  Be  Full  of  Good  Manners 
— An  Example — How  to  Treat  the  Busybody — Zachariah  Fox — Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson — Milton's  Allusion  to  the  origin  of  the  Word  "Courtesy ' 
— The  Celebrated  "Beaux"  of  History — Momentary  Views  of  Our  Souls — 
Your  Clothes — They  Should  Occupy  Little  of  Your  Mind — Civility  Costs 
Nothing  and  Buys  Everything Page  80. 


A  Small  Leak  Will  Sink  a  Great  Ship  —  The  Little  Cloud  Arising  out  of  the 
Sea  Waxes  into  the  Storm  that  Lashes  the  Trembling  Ocean  —  The  People 
with  Small  Wages  Can  Often  Save  the  Most  Money  —  You  Cannot  Spend 
Your  Money  Without  the  Righteous  Criticism  of  Others  —  How  Young  Men 
Spend  Much  of  Their  Extra  Cash  —  Rural  Saloons  —  A  Gallon  of  Whiskey  — 
What  It  is  Actually  Worth—  What  It  is  Sold  For—  Ordinary  Profits  of 
Legitimate  Business  —  Tobacco  —  What  Three  Years'  Savings  Will  Do  for  a 
Man  in  America  —  A  Good  Wagoner  Can  Turn  in  a  Little  Room  —  When 
You  Buy  a  Horse  Reckon  on  What  He  Will  Eat  Instead  of  What  His  Price 
Is  —  Save  all  You  Can  —  Harness  It  up  and  Make  It  Pull  in  Interest.  Page  88. 


Adversity's  Lamp  —  Youth   Has   Great   need   of   Courage  —  It  should   be 


CONTENTS.  <> 

Long-Suffering  Rather  than  Intrepid  —  You  Must  Gain  the  Battle  by  Taking 
Sudden  Advantages  —  You  Must  Hurl.  10,000  Men  Against  2,000  Before 
Your  Enemy  Can  Be  Reinforced  —  Story  of  a  Young  Man  Who  Broke 
Through  the  Enemy's  Lines  at  Chicago  —  His  Low  Wages  —  His  Bad 
Prospects  —  Reading  the  Bible  and  Plutarch  —  Studying  French  —  The 
Attempt  to  Become  an  Actor  —  Dismal  Failure  —  Difficulty  of  Conquering 
Wounded  Pride  —  The  Return  to  "Hard  Work"  —  Progress  —  Triumph  — 
Reason  of  the  Victory  —  Hope  a  Quality  Closely  Akin  to  Courage  —  Courage, 
However,  the  Grand  Motor  that  Moves  the  World  —  Courage  Builds  the 
Great  Bridges  and  Hope  Rides  on  a  Free  Pass  over  Them.  .  Page  95. 


Hope  is  a  Gold-Leaf  Which  Can  Be  Beaten  with  the  Hammer  of  Adversity 
to  Exceeding  Thinness  —  The  Medicine  of  the  Miserable  —  Hope  Should 
Deposit  Probabilities  with  Experience,  His  Banker  —  Story  of  a  Young  Man 
Whose  Hope  Carried  him  Across  a  Bad  Place  in  Life  —  Making  Garden  — 
Sandpapering  Window-Frames  in  a  Cellar  —  Selling  "Milton  Gold  Jewelry" 

—  Working  in  a  "gang,"  on  a  Farm,  after  the  English  Fashion  —  A  Situation 
Found  on  the  Very  Day  of  the  Great  Fire,  Just  Without  the  Bounds  of  the 
Conflagration  —  Map-Making  —  Success  —  Hope  Is  the  Cork  to  the  Net  —  We 
Will  Part  With  Our  Money,  but  we  will  Never  Sell  Our  Hope  at  any  Price 

—  The  Celebrated  Shield  —  Hope   Unjustly   Defamed.  .  Page  107. 


God's  Exactitude  —  One  at  a  Time  is  the  Way  Rats  Get  into  a  Granary  — 
The  First  Rat  Eats  Out  the  Hole  —  Story  of  Sag  Bridge  —  The  Collision  —  The 
Horror  —  The  Cause  —  Imitate  the  Detectives  —  Story  of  a  Cashier  Who  Left 
Off  a  "  Simple  Cipher,"  which  Stood  for  a  Hundred  Thousand  Dollars  in 
Cash  to  His  Employers  —  How  to  Mail  a  Letter  —  "We  Never  Make  Mistakes 


10  CONTENTS. 

—  The  Way  People  Are  Convinced  That  Care  Is  Necessary  —  How  a  Careless 
Clerk  Can  Drive  Away  Custom-  —  The  Lightning  Calculator  —  He  Is  Simply 
a  Hard  Worker  —  Our  Multiplication-Table  Does  Not  Run  High  Enough  — 
The  Freaks  of  Figures  —  Correct  Your  Spelling  —  Learn  to  Avoid  Foolish 
Exaggeration  —  Force  of  Habit  —  "  A  Man  of  Good  Habits"  Is  a  Man  Who 
Would  Be  Positively  Uncomfortable  and  Unhappy  if  He  Attempted  to 
Become  Dissolute  ........  .  Page  119. 


Hard-Pan  Reason  Why  Nothing  Succeeds  So  Well  as  Success—  Your  Good 
Fortune  in  Living  on  American  Soil  —  Missing  Battles  and  Allowing  Others 
to  Be  Promoted  Instead  of  Yourself  —  No  City  Ever  Withstood  a  Good  Siege 
—  Get  into  the  Strong  Sunshine  of  active  Life  —  The  Safe  Time  to  Become 
Discontented-  —  What  Praise  Means  —  What  Gloomy  Predictions  Mean  When 
Your  Employer  Makes  Them  —  Practice  —  Example  in  Proof-Reading  — 
Captains  are  Made  out  of  First  Lieutenants  —  The  Retail  Business  —  Fools 
Rushing  in  Where  Angels  Fear  to  Tread  —  The  Successful  Grocery  —  No 
Wonder  Success  Sits  on  That  Corner  —  The  Painter  Who  Mixed  His  Colors 
With  Brains  —  Story  of  The  Man  Who  Could  Imitate  Birds  —  Do  not  Attempt 
Impossible  Journeys  —  Stop  at  Each  Inn  .....  Page  132. 


Truth  of  the  adage  that  a  Man  Is  Known  by  the  Company  He  Keeps — 
Tam  O'Shanter's  Habits — Building  a  House  With  a  Party- Wall — Playing 
Billiards  at  Noon-Time — Smelling  of  the  Smoke  of  the  Kitchen — Bar-Room 
Manners — Judging  a  Man  by  His  Clothes — A  Piece  of  Impertinence  which 
Cost  the  Keeping  of  Five  Hundred  and  Fifty  Thousand  Dollars — "The 
Companion  of  Fools  Shall  Be  Destroyed  " — Learn  to  Admire  Rightly — Charm 
which  the  Look  of  Certain  Loafers  Has  for  Many  Young  Men — Getting  a 


CONTENTS.  1  1 

Sitting  in  Church  —  Keep  i  n  Company  Where  You  Will  Be  Under  a  Pleasant 
Restraint  —  Either  Wise  Bearing  or  Ignorant  Carriage  Is  Caught,  as  Men 
Take  Diseases  One  from  Another.  .  Page  144. 


Natural  Depression  —  Certainty  of  Its  Discontinuance  —  The  Best  Salesman 
Have  Been  Very  Soft-Hearted  on  Their  Early  Trips  —  Entering  the  Town  — 
Riding  One  Block  for  Half  a  Dollar  —  A  Poor  Meal  —  Getting  Your  Wind  — 
Planning  the  Charge  —  Canvassing  Yourself  —  What  Is  the  Almost  Limitless 
Power  of  Persuasion  ?  —  Abraham  Lincoln  —  The  Whisky  Which  Made 
Generals  Win  Battles  was  the  Kind  of  Whisky  He  Was  in  Searsh  of  —  Your 
Dress  —  Your  Entrance  at  Your  Customer's  Place  —  Your  Speed  in  Getting 
Started  —  Your  Ease  after  the  Start  Is  Made  —  Never  Stop  the  Customer  — 
Your  Perfect  Accuracy  as  to  Men  and  Places  —  Story  of  a  Meteoric  Salesman 
—Trouble  of  Putting  a  Stop  to  his  Flight—  Your  Supper  Tastes  Good—  The 
Men  of  Cold  Exterior  —  Stay  Out  but  Do  not  Stay  Up  —  How  to  Get  Vim  and 
Sparkle  —  Extraordinary  Value  of  a  Man  Who  Can  "  Place  Goods."  Page  152. 


The  Tracks  of  Giants — Napoleonic  Miracles — Webster  and  Astor — George 
Peabody — Giving  Away  Eight  Millions  of  Dollars — Stewart — Andrew 
Johnson — Barnum  and  Stanford — Ulysses  S.  Grant — Commodore  Vanderbilt 
— Elihu  Burritt — Edgar  Poe — Greeley  Chase,  Garfield  and  William  Tecumseh 
Sherman — Tennyson — Robert  E.  Lee — Pickett's  Charge  at  Gettysburg — 
James  Gordon  Bennett — Carlyle  and  Victor  Hugo — Garabaldi — Agassiz, 
Humboldt,  Proctor,  Seward,  Farragut,  Nelson,  Abercrombie,  Joseph  E. 
Johnston,  Longstreet,  and  Fifty  Others — The  Habit  of  Riding  Over 
Obstacles — Herodotus,  Seneca  and  Franklin  on  the  Power  of  Example — 
Christ  Never  Wrote  a  Tract— The  System  of  Redoubling  the  Effort  and 


12  CONTENTS. 

Coming  out,  after  one  Victory,  Ahead  after  Reckoning  all  Losses.  Page  164. 

STCcm. 

Shakspeare's  Eulogy,  just  as  He  Penned  It  —  Emerson  —  A  Columbus  of 
the  Skies  —  Carlyle's  Panegyric  —  Whately  —  Man's  Faults  —  Horace  Man  and 
Pascal  —  The  Poet  Cowley  and  Boileau—  Fallacy  of  their  Scoldings  as  Applied  to 
all  Humankind  —  What  Is  Man?  —  Plato's  Answer  —  Addison's  Answer  — 
Burke's  Answer  —  Adam  Smith's  Answer  —  Buffon's  Failure  to  Make  a  Satis- 
factory Answer  —  Plutarch's  Answer  —  '  '  The  Proper  Study  of  Mankind  is  Man  " 
—  Henry  Giles  and  John  Ruskin  —  The  Wonderful  Instrument  Called  the 
Hand  —  The  Violin  Its  Slave  —  Man's  Opportunities  —  What  God  Has  Said 
of  His  Children  —  The  Beautiful  Language  in  Which  It  is  Written  —  Nobility 
of  Our  Destiny  —  A  Stinging  Epigram.  ....  Page  175. 


The  Hand  That  Made  Woman  Fair  Made  Her  Good  —  Wordsworth's 
Beautiful  lines  to  His  Wife  —  "  She  Was  a  Phanton  of  Delight"-CampbeH's 
"  Pleasures  of  Hope"  —  A  Pleasant  Subject  —  The  Difference  Between  Love 
in  Man  and  Love  in  Woman  —  Jean  Paul  Richter's  Encomium  —  Schiller's 
Tribute  —  Shelley  —  Shakspeare  —  Rousseau,  Barrett  and  Balzac  —  The  Duke 
of  Halifax  —  Addison  —  Boyle  —  Sex  in  The  Soul  —  Woman's  Love  of  Ornament 
—Her  Dress  the  Perfection  of  What  Man  Demands  of  Her  —  Dr.  Johnson's 
Explanation  —  Testimony  of  John  Ledyard  to  the  Goodness  of  Woman  —  His 
History  —  Woman's  Enormous  Influence  over  Man  —  How  Men  Live  Where 
There  Are  No  Women  —  The  History  of  Human  Sickness  a  Monument  of 
the  Goodness  of  Woman,  ,.,....  Page  187. 


Overshadowing  Antiquity  of  the  Word  "Papa"  —  The  Pope  Is  Simply 


CONTENTS.  13 

Papa,  in  Italian  —  Duties  of  the  Son  Toward  the  Father  —  Honesty  of  His 
Love  for  You  —  Patriarchal  Government  the  Beginning  and  Still  the  Prop  of 
Society  —  Old  Age  the  Childhood  of  Immortality  —  Honor  Attaching  to  Great- 
ness of  years  in  the  past  —  Age  Still  a  Necesity  in  Many  of  the  Learned 
Professions  —  Age  Is  Indulgent  Because  It  sees  no  Fault  it  Has  not  Itself 
Committed  —  Time  the  Harper,  Laying  His  Hand  Gently  on  the  Harp  of 
Life  —  Love  of  Little  Children  —  The  Village  Blacksmith,  the  Mighty  Man  — 
Respect  for  Venerable  Years  a  Fitting  Thing  in  the  Most  Dignified  of  Young 
Men  —  Two  Pictures,  One  Dark"  and  the  Other  Bright.  .  Page  197 


A  Great  Subject  —  Chords  Struck  by  Coleridge  and  Tennyson  —  She  Has 
Risked  Her  Life  that  Her  Child  Might  Live  —  She  Has  Grown  Spectre-Like 
that  Her  Child  Might  Wax  Strong  —  She  Has  Forgotten  the  Debt  Due  to 
Her  in  Her  Anxiety  to  Obtain  an  Acknowledgment  of  the  Debt  Due  to  God 
•  —  Her  Memory  —  Christmas  —  Her  Sick  Child  —  Man  the  Mighty  at  His 
Mother's  Knee  —  The  Best  Friend  —  "An  Ounce  of  Mother  Worth  a  Pound 
of  Clergy  "  —  A  Mother's  Praise  -  The  Dead  —  Unalterable  Fidelity  — 
Forgetting  a  Mother's  Claims  —  The  Mother  Still  in  Middle  Life  —  The 
Mother  of  Greater  Years  —  The  Mother  of  Mothers  —  She  Gathered  the 
Orphans  Together  and  Poured  Out  Her  Tenderness  Upon  Them.  Page  207. 


A  Great  Passion,  Therefore  not  one  to  Trifle  and  Be  Familiar  With—  Its 
Tyranny  —  Feelings  and  Actions  of  a  Young  Man  in  Love  —  Utter  Useless- 
ness  for  Business  of  a  Young  Man  During  the  Uncertain  Period  Between 
Desire  and  Possession  —  Love  Rules  The  Universe  —  How  The  Sages  Look 
upon  Love  —  It  Is  But  the  Flash  in  the  Broad  Pan  of  True  Happiness  — 
Shakspeare,  Tennyson,  Overbury,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  South,  Dryden,  Plautus, 


1 4  CONTENTS. 

Goethe,  Burton,  Valerius  Maximus,  Rochefoucauld,  Addison.  Hazlitt  and 
Emerson — "The  Wooden  God's  Remorse" — "Love  Me  Little  Love  Me 
Long" — The  Poet  Petrarch's  Strange  Behavior — "If  She  Do  not  Care  for 
Me,  What  Care  I  How  Fair  She  Be  !  " — LaFontaine,  Lyttleton,  Schiller, 
Ruffini,  DuCceur,  DeStael,  Colton,  Dudevant,  Balzac,  Moore,  Beecher, 
Victor  Hugo,  Longfellow,  Limayrac,  Howe,  Deluzy  and  Jane  Porter — 
"Solomon  was  So  Seduced,  and  He  Had  a  Very  Good  Wit " — Alexander 
Smith — Great  Space  Given  to  Love  in  all  the  Books  of  the  World — Some 
Things  to  Remember  While  Viewing  the  Passion  in  Others.  Page  219' 


The  Young  Man  Finds  Himself  in  Love  and  "Begins  to  Think" — He 
Wonders  That  He  Never  Before  Thought  of  Money — Difference  Between  a 
Wharf-Rat  and  a  Man — Difference  Between  a  Married  Man  and  an  Old 
Bachelor  Who  Has  Always  Been  Afraid  of  the  Expense — Everything  Natural 
in  Marriage — Be  "Square"  with  Your  Sweetheart — The  Circus-Poster — 
The  Quarry  of  Truth — Do  not  "Talk  Big"  and  Love  Little — Courtship  and 
Marriage  not  a  Matter  of  "  Want  to  or  Don't  Want  to,"  but  a  Strenuous 
Case  of  "Got  to " — Marriage  Like  Life  Insurance — Closing  Hints.  Page  234. 


.  Sample  of  a  "  Swell  Wedding" — Undignified  Aspects  of  a  Swell  Wedding 
Where  It  Takes  Every  Cent  a  Man  Can  Earn,  Beg  and  Borrow — A  Farce, 
and  an  Example  to  Shun — Let  us  Have  Some  Manhood  .and  Womanhood 
at  a  Critical  Point,  the  Start  in  Real  Life — To  Be  a  Man  Is  to  Be  Married — 
Nature's  Artful  Treatment  of  Human  Beings — Folly  of  Men  Who  Throw 
Away  Their  Happiness — Be  Inquisitive  Before  Marriage — Be  Blind 
Thereafter — The  Law  Approves  and  Encourages  the  Married  State — The 
Married  Man  Is  of  the  Greater  Importance  in  the  Nation — A  Thing  to  Be 


CONTENTS.  15 

Kept  in  Mind — Married  Men  Healthier  than  Bachelors — Married  Women 
Healthier  than  Maids — A  Married  Man  Has  a  Greater  Excess  of  Comforts 
than  of  Troubles  as  Compared  with  the  Comforts  and  Troubles  of  the 
Bachelor.  .  .  .  .  .  ...  *  :  t  .  .  Page  246. 


£ifc. 


A  Practical  Chapter  on  Life  as  It  Is  Actually  Lived  by  a  Man  and  Woman 
Who  Have  a  Fair  Chance  in  the  World — A  Home  With  a  Young  Wife  in  It 
no  Place  for  Other  Men,  no  Matter  How  Dear  they  May  Be  to  the  Husband 
— Give  the  Wife  a  Chance — Kindness — Do  not  Be  Afraid  of  Honoring  Your 
Wife  any  Too  Much — The  Wife's  Proper  Cares — A  Reply  to  the  Common 
Form  of  Attack  on  the  Prinaipal  that  Marriage  Is  Both  Natural  and 
Expedient — McFarlsnd — A  Man's  Happy  Experience  as  a  Husband — 
Judgment,  Vanity,  Selfishness  and  Trepidation — Good  for  Evil — Astonishing 
Changes  in  a  Man's  Needs — The  Fireside  of  a  Man  Who  Is  Trying  to  Do 
Right — His  Profound  Gratitude  at  the  Accuracy  of  Mis  Taste  in  Earlier 
Years—  Death,  or  Worse  than  Death — Three  Studies — Apology  for  a  Some- 
what Uncharitable  Reply  to  a  Selfish  Argument.  .  .  .  Page  256 


A  Chapter  on  Bachelors  Apt  to  Diverge  into  a  Dissertation  on  Solitude-^ 
Arguments  which  the  Bachelor  Applies  to  the  Question  of  Marriage^ 
Being  the  Soul  of  Selfishness  He  Is  Unwilling  to  Believe  Happiness  In 
Marriage  Possible  until  He  Shall  Himself  Have  Embarked  in  Matrimony — 
Manner  in  Which  He  Usually  Proclaims  That  all  Men  Who  Marry  Are 
Fools — Single  Life  Unavoidable  with  Some  Men — A  Mere  Spectator  of  Other 
Men's  Fortunes — The  One  Grand  Result  of  Single  Life — Wearing  Out  One 
Set  of  Faculties  by  Forty— Losing  Control  of  the  Other  Set  by  Disuse—' 
The  Way  a  Bachelor  Judges  a  Young  Girl — His  Somewhat  Sordid  Ideas — • 


1  6  CONTENTS. 

Events  Have  Distorted  His  Nature  —  A  Bachelor's  Great  opportunities  for 
Getting  Book-Knowledge  —  Good  out  of  Evil  —  Mistaken  Ideas  about  Bache- 
lors, which  the  Ladies  are  Apt  to  Entertain—  Foolish  Diatribes  against 
Women  —  The  Lack  of  Knowledge  which  Those  Diatribes  Betray  —  The 
Front-Porch  View  of  Girlhood  Esteemed  to  be  the  whole  of  Woman's 
Nature!  .....  *  .....  Page  270. 


Health,  Even  with  Memory,  cannot  conceive  the  Feelings  of  Disease. 
—  The  Invalid's  Sad  Weakness  —  The  King  cannot  Hire  a  man  to  Have  the 
Typhoid  Fever  for  Him  —  The  Strong  man  Felled  to  His  Couch  —  Chances 
for  Philosophy  —  The  Chances  Usually  Thrown  Away  with  the  Medicine 
Bottles  —  The  Bachelor  Sick  —  His  Body  now  as  Full  of  the  need  of  Woman's 
attention  as  It  was  of  Brags  that  He  would  Have  none  of  Her  —  Let  Us  do 
something,  by  not  attempting  Everything  in  the  way  of  Reformation. 
.............  281 


The  Tallest  mountains,  although  They  Gather  the  Heaviest  Clouds  about 
Their  Solemn  Sides,  Yet  Look  Through  Cloudless  Skies  up  Toward  the  Sun 

—  Effect  of  Deep  Sorrow  on   the  Appearance  of  Beauties  of  Nature  —  We 
Deprecate  Grief,  and«yet  We  Rail  at  Its  Short  Duration  —  The  Stricken  Wife 

—  The  Young  man  who  Loves  and  Is  Rejected  —  His  Dilemma  —  His  Errone- 
ous and  Immature  Decision  that  He  would  Love  But  One,  and  Love  Forever 

—  A  Peak  which  Hardly  Rises  to  the  Bottom  of  the  Valleys  in  the  Mountains 
Piled  Down  by  Events  in  After-life  —  True   Greatness  is  True  Humility  — 
Affliction  Beautifies  Human  Nature—  Blessedness  of  Employment  —  Efficacy 
of  Religion  —  The  Beautiful  Poem  of  "  The  Lamb  in  the  Shepherd's  Arms." 

»         ...........     Page  290. 


CONTENTS.  17 


A  Topic  That  Hits  Close  to  Every  Man—  In  the  Old  World  the  Countries 
Are  to  Blame  ;  In  the  New  the  Individual  Is  Generally  at  Fault  —  Case  of 
Vanderbilt  —  Fears  of  Enormously  Rich  men  that  their  Wealth  will  excite  the 
Irresistible  Cupidity  of  their  Governments  —  Burdens  of  Immense  Riches  in 
an  Active  Land  Like  This  —  The  Shocking  Imbecility  of  False  Poverty  — 
"Appearances"  —  Popular  Errors  as  to  Servants  —  Big  Houses  —  Story  of  the 
Happy  Man.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  •  .,-«•'  r  Page  300. 


Progress  the  Stride  of  God  —  The  Field-Hand  in  1350  —  One  hundred  aim 
Twelve  Hours'  Labor  for  a  Bushel  o^  Wheat  —  The  same  Laborer  in  1550, 
in  1675,  and  in  1795  —  Seventy  Hours  for  a  Bushel  of  Wheat  —  The  Same 
Laborer  To-day  —  Twenty  Hours  for  the  Bushel  of  Wheat  —  The  Children 
of  the  Laborer  who  Came  to  America  —  Seven  or  Eight  Hours  for  a  Bushel 
of  Wheat.  .  .-  .  ..  .  '-.,  .  .  .  .  -•;.'-»  Page  311. 


Lightning  Is  More  Apt  To  hit  a  Scrag  than  a  Tree  Whick 
has  Never  Been  Riven  —  The  Scrags  in  Society  —  The  Loadstone  of  Failure 
at  the  Foot  of  the  Scrag  —  The  Lesson  to  be  Derived  from  Hopeless  Failure 
in  Others  —  Sorrows  March  in  Battalions,  not  as  Single  Spies,  .  Page  321. 


The  Man  of  Success— Eggs  Trying  to  Dance  with  Stones — Trying  to 
Draw  the  Prize  in  a  Lottery  Without  any  Ticket — Dray  Horses'  Honest 
Belief  that  the  Earth  Moves  Backward  under  the  Racer's  Feet,  He  Being  So 
Lucky— The  Heavy  End  of  the  Lifting— How  Fortune  Tellers  Make  Their 


1  8  CONTENTS. 

Money  —  Gr«at  Opportunities  for  All  Who  Were  not  Born  Tired.     Page  325, 


One  Reason  of  the  Prosperity  of  the  Precent  Era  —  Obey  Orders  —  How  the 
Wonders  have  been  Piled  Up  —  Metaphor  of  the  Organ  and  Its  Pipes  and 
Reeds  —  Sound  Your  Pipe  only  in  Your  Proper  Turn,  and  You  will  hear 
Beautiful  Music.  '  ........  Page  332. 


We  Multiply  Our  Sensations  by  Books  —  Everyone  Can  have  a  Library  — 
Books  are  the  Best  of  Friends  —  Charm  of  a  Well-Read  Comrade  —  Bindings 
—  A  Book  as  Great  a  Thing  as  a  Battle  —  Importance  of  Some  Battles  —  Our 
Eyes  —  How  to  Judge  a  Book  Rightly  —  Large  Type  —  Need  of  Handy  Vol- 
umes —  Aid  Others,  as  a  Duty  .......  Page  337. 


Reason  of  the  Melancholy  Tone  which  Pervades  the  Great  Writings  of  the 
Ages  on  this  Subject — Man  Expects  to  Get  More  than  He  Gives — How  a 
man  Prepares  the  Nostrum  called  Friendship — Unsuccessful  Substitution  of 
Selfishness  for  a  Mother's  Love — What  is  Possible  in  the  way  of  Ordinary 
Friendship — Spot  Friendship— Let  us  not  Rail  against  Friendship.  Page  345. 


The  Basest  of  all  Traits—  A  Wolf's  Den—  The  Tail-less  Fox—  Envy  is 
Largely  Ignorance  —  Greatness  attained  only  after  Arduous  Labors  —  The 
Tenor  and  The  Stone-Front  —  Thier's  Long  Life  —  A  Critical  View  of  Glad- 
stone's Public  Sorrows  —  Truly  Distracting  Dilemmas  in  which  Circumstances 
of  Empire  Involve  Great  Men  —  An  appeal  to  Envy.  .  .  Page  354. 


L:!ty—  First  Surprise  of  the   Newly-Rich  —  The  Scotch   Mist  —  The 


CONTENTS.  19 

Angel  S«nt  to  Conduct  an  Empire  and  the  One  Sent  to  Sweep  a  Street — Our 
Principal  Causes  of  Happiness  Free  to  All. — How  Rich  Men  Secure  Happi- 
ness— The  Prisoner  and  His  Three  Pins — Happiness  Inalienable  in  Health 
— A  Pleasant  View  of  Egotism  as  a  necessary  Ingredient  in  Our  Make-up. 
Page  362. 


The  Need  of  a  "  Balance  of  Power  "  in  the  Mind  —  Asa  General  Thing 
Ambition  a  Quality  to  be  Curbed  —  Assassination  of  Merit  by  Envy  —  The 
Man  Qualified  to  Deal  with  Ambition  —  A  Picture  of  His  Unhappy  Lot,  as 
Illustrated  in  Napoleon's  Life  —  Poem.  ...  .  Page  368. 


A.  Favorite  Chapter  —  The  Telegraph  Outriding  the  Storms  —  The  Farmers 
the  Grand  Comservative  Forces  of  the  Republic  —  Difference  between  Business 
and  Farming  —  How  the  Farmers  Will  Settle  the  Communists  and  the  Mag- 
nates —  The  Farmer's  Sons  —  A  Plea  for  Them  —  A  Picture  of  the  Opportuni- 
ties which  We  are  Daily  Missing.  ......  Page  375. 


The  Drunkard's  Wife — A  Drama  of  Horror — Why  Society  Looks  So  Calm- 
ly on  Such  Scenes — The  Wisdom  and  Exp«rience  of  Society — Effort  of  the 
Brother  to  Improve  His  Sister's  Condition — The  Result — What  Society  Is 
Doing — The  Drift  of  Things — Views  of  the  Future — A  Better  Time  nearly 
at  Hand * Page  386. 


The  Highest  Type  ofReputation,  a  Silent  but  Powerful  Influence — Two 
Instances  of  Good  Reputation — Tall  Masts  Needed  for  Great  Ships — The 
Difference  between  Greatness  on  the  Inside  of  a  Man,  and  Great  Appear- 
ances on  the  Outside "  .  .  ,  Page  395. 


20  CONTENTS. 


Paramount  Importance  of  Family  Services  —  The   Iron   Duke's   Remark^ 

Sayings  of  the  Wisest  and  Best  —  Scenes  in   Burned   Chicago  —  Newton   and 

La  Place  —  Their  Testimony  —  Victor  Hugo  :  "  I  believe  in  the  Sublimity  of 

Prayer  "  —  Wordsworth's  Apostrophe  —  Young's  Prayer  —  A  Sweet  Supplication 

..........     Page  400. 


The  Owlet  Atheism  —  Hammer  and  Tongs  used  to  work  in.  Fire  —  False 
Headings  on  News  —  On  The  Plains  of  Chaldaea  —  The  Voice  of  Duty  ever  in 
the  way  of  the  Atheist—  A  Creator  Demanded  by  Reason  —  The  Atheist  Like 
Falstaff,  Leading  a  very  Scrubby  File  of  Soldiers.  .  .  .  Page  410. 


The  Bible  is  Authentic,  Old,  Beautiful—  It  is  the  Only  Hope  We  have- 
It  Out-dates  the  Chinese  Empire  —  Everything  Good  and  Progressive  is  Found. 
ed  on  It  —  Practical  Value  of  Studying  It  —  Its  Eloquence  —  Its  Triumphs  in 
an  Infinitude  of  Tests  .......  .  Page  421. 


o|  -£ile. 


Age  the  Outer  Shore  against  which  Dashes  an  Eternity  —  We  are  on  a  small 
Planet,  but  We  Belong  to  a  Larger  Celestial  Empire  —  The  Undevout  Astron- 
omer Insane  —  Does  the  Beast  Peer  into  the  Stars  ?  —  Eternity  is  not  a  conceit 
of  Man  —  Apostrophe  to  a  Patriarch.  •  -,  ...  Page  433. 


Cato's  Soliloquy — Promises  of  God's  Word  clothed  in  Syllables  of  Unsur- 
passable Sweetness — He  that  holdeth  the  Pleiades  in  His  Right  Hand — 
Blissful  Forecasts — Shall  God  weigh  out  Arcturus  to  Stop  the  Un- 
reasoning Clamor  of  the  Fool  who  Hath  Said  in  His  Heart  there  Is  No  God? 
CONCLUSION •.%  .  .  Page  441. 


THE    GOLDEN    CENSER. 

_y    6)  -•-,_-" 


to 


IX 


Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen  censer, 
Swung  by  seraphim  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. — EDGAR  POE. 


GOLDEN  CENSER  swings  in 
the  Temple  of  Life,  making  holy 
its  halls  and  grateful  its  corridors. 
This  fountain  of  our  well-being  is 
Duty.     There  is  little  true  pleas- 
lure  in  the  world  which  does  not 
i 

flow,  either  directly  or  remotely, 
from  its  depths. 

It  shall  be  the  object  of  this  volume  to 
point  out  and  name  a  few  of  the  balms 
which  burn  in  this  Unseen  Censer — a  few 
of  the  lines  of  action  which  render  our 
memories  sweet  and  forever  pleasant  if  they  be  wrapt 
in  such  perfume. 

THE    PALACE    OF    THE    SOUL. 

When  the  incense  of  a  man's  good  actions  spreads 

[21] 


22  THE    GOLDEN    CENSER. 

through  the  palace  of  the  soul,  "  the  powers  that  wait 
on  noble  deeds "  light  up  the  edifice  with  radiance 
brought  from  other  worlds.  In  the  eye  of  a  good 
man — in  the  window  of  the  palace  of  his  soul — we 
behold  an  occupant  who  fears  no  duty.  We  are 
fascinated,  and  gather  about,  anxious  to  peer  in  upon 
the  fortunate  possessor.  Therein  lies  the  happiness 
and  the  force  of  good  example. 

But  let  the  Censer  burn  low,  and  flicker  in  final 
sickliness;  the  great  bell  called  Conscience,  hanging  in 
the  dome,  strikes  an  alarm  that  rocks  the  building. 
How  oft  the  solemn  tocsin  sounds  !  It  drives  us  to 
our  duty  !  Let  us  be  thankful  its  clangor  is  so 
harsh  ! 

THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  COUNTRY, 

the  man  whose  heart  was  torn  each  time  his  soldiers' 
feet  did  bleed — the  man  who  stood  like  a  rock 
between  the  despot  and  the  down-trodden — that  man, 
at  the  end  of  the  career  which  glorified  him,  and 
which,  with  reflected  glory  will  light  the  annals  of 
all  coming  centuries — that  kind,  good  man,  George 
Washington,  could  not  discern  the  separating  line 
between  Duty  and  human  happiness.  "  The  consid- 


THE    GOLDEN    CENSER.  23 

eration  that  human  happiness  and  moral  duty,"  he 
said,  "  are  inseparately  connected,  will  always  con- 
tinue to  prompt  me  to  promote  the  progress  of  the 
one  by  inculcating  the  practice  of  the  other." 

LET  US  KEEP  THE  GOLDEN  CENSER  BURNING 

with  the  frankincense  of  our  highest  endeavors.  "  Let 
us,"  as  Theodore  Parker  once  said,  "  do  our  duty  in 
our  shop,  or  our  kitchen,  the  market,  the  street,  the 
office,  the  school,  the  home,  just  as  faithfully  as  if 
we  stood  in  the  front  rank  of  some  great  battle,  and 
we  knew  that  victory  for  mankind  depended  on  our 
bravery,  strength,  and  skill.  When  we  do  that,  the 
humblest  of  us  will  be  serving  in  that  great  army 
which  achieves  the  welfare  of  the  world." 

THE    SOLDIER    GOES    FORTH 

with  his  loins  girded,  hoping  to  conquer  in  the  hard 
battles  of  life.  Let  the  incense  of  Duty  cling  to  his 
garments  and  keep  him  clean  from  selfish  contagion. 
How  lovely  the  picture  of  that  old  man  of  Gold- 
smith's time,  swinging  the  Golden  Censer  before  the 
hearts  that  throbbed  in  unison  with  him  : 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all  ; 
And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries, 


24  THE    GOLDEN    CENSER. 

To  tempt  her  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Our  duty  was  created  with  us.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
live.  What  then  should  be  the  pleasure  to  think 
there  is  a  place  for  us — a  duty  beneficently  made 
that  gives  us  rights  with  our  fellow-creatures  ? 
What  though  the  duty  may  try  your  soul  and  stagger 
your  capabilities?  "  Skillful  pilots  gain  their  reputa- 
tion from  storms  and  tempests."  Bear  up  with  pa- 
tient courage — "  the  bird  that  flutters  least  is  longest 
on  the  wing."  "Duty  is  the  stern  daughter  of  the 
voice  of  God." 

Let  us  then,  upon  entering  this  stately  Temple  of 
Life,  cast  into  the  Golden  Censer  our  courage,  our 
hope,  our  energy,  our  love,  our  industry,  and  all 
those  qualities  which  go  to  make  the  air  around  us 
redolent  with  the  fragrance  of  the  achievements  of 
life.  It  cannot  then  well  be  that  we  shall  lack  in 
allegiance  to  our  Maker,  our  country,  or  ourselves. 
"  Duties  are  ours;  events  are  God's." 

"  On  parent  knee,  a  naked,  newborn  child, 

Weeping  thou  satst  while  all  around  thee  smiled  ; 
So  live  that,  sinking  in  thy  last  long  sleep, 

Calm  thou  mayst  smile  while  all  around  thee  weep." 


Age  steals 

Upon  us  like  a  snowstorm  in  the  night : 
How  drear  .life's  landscape  now ! — HENRY  GUY  CARLETON. 

Whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Judean,  threw  a  pearl  away 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe. — SHAKSPEARE. 


E  are  intrusted  with  a  few  short 
years,  and  yet  with  more  than  we 
deserve.  It  is  our  misfortune  to 
value  those  fleeting  moments  only 
when  our  stock  of  them  is  in  dan- 
ger of  utter  exhaustion.  When 
the  bright,  beautiful  days  have  vanished, 
and  we  find  that,  like  the  base  Judean 's 
pearl,  those  days  were  richer  than  all  our 
tribe — our  Vanderbilts,  our  Stanfords, 
and  our  Goulds — then  we  turn,  in  human 
kindness,  to  our  younger  associates,  and 
sound  our  warning  in  their  ears.  Accord- 
ing as  our  earnestness  impresses  them,  they  listen 
or  they  hearken  not.  A  golden  thought  which 
the  young  should  learn  by  heart,  would  run  thus  : 


26  THE    FLIGHT    OF    TIME. 

However*  highly  I  have  valued  this  day,  I  have 
•''sold  it  on  a  rising  market"  and  too  cheaply.  It 
ivould  grow  in  value  as  I  looked  back  upon  it,  even 
if  I  were  to  live  to  my  eightieth  year.  This  may  not 
seem  true  to  you,  who  wish  for  Saturday  night,  that 
you  may  receive  your  salary, — or  to  you,  who  long 
for  Sunday,  that  you  may  gaze  into  a  pair  of  eyes 
that  have  deep  beauties  for  you — but  when  your 
mother  in  your  babyhood,  said  a  certain  letter 
was  "  A,1' 

YOU  HAD  TO  ACCEPT  THE  STATEMENT 

without  reservation,  or  you  would  not  now  be  able  to 
exercise  the  grandest  of  human  faculties — to  read,  to 
glean  the  thoughts  of  the  ages,  and  to  receive,  with- 
out toiling  through  the  rugged  regions  of  experience, 
the  impressions  and  the  inspirations  which  have  come 
to  man  through  all  his  labors  and  his  pains.  Sir 
William  Hamilton  has  well  said  that  implicit  belief  is 
at  the  foundation  of  all  human  happiness — the  knowl- 
edge of  the  mind,  as  well  as  the  certainty  of  the  fu- 
ture life. 

The  mind  is  rarely  broad  enough  in  youth  to  survey 
the  field  of  life  with  an  impartial  view.     u  The  years 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    TIME.  2  7 

creep  slowly  by,  Lorena,"  was  written  in  the  true 
youthful,  spendthrift  spirit. 

"COAL-OIL  JOHNNY" 

was  left,  as  he  supposed,  inexhaustible  riches.  He 
threw  away  his  money  as  many  of  us  throw  away  our 
lives,  and  his  money  lasted  him  two  years.  Had  his 
life  been  equally  at  his  disposal,  he  would  have  been 
in  the  hands  of  the  pale  Receiver,  Death,  when  his  oil- 
wells  passed  to  other  owners.  Having  so  precious  a 
pearl,  therefore,  as  this  life,  let  us  make  its  setting  a 
thing  of  beauty.  Let  us  invest  our  moments  as 

THE    WISE     MAN, 

who,  instead  of  buying  on  time  and  paying  eight 
per  cent,  interest,  saves  his  earnings  and  puts  them 
out  at  eight  per  cent,  interest,  thus  reaping  a  differ- 
ence of  sixteen  per  cent.,  or  nearly  one-sixth  of  his 
yearly  surplus.  Every  idea  put  into  your  head  is 
invested  at  interest.  Every  expenditure  of  time  which 
is  a  waste  is  a  payment  of  interest,  a  corroding, 
double-acting  agency  of  evil  to  your  welfare. 

YOU   WANT    TO    SUCCEED    IN    THE    WORLD,— 

of  course,  you  .do  !  Look  out,  and  do  not  let  the 
thrifty  men  of  brains  lend  you  their  ideas  at  that 


28  THE   FLIGHT   OF    TIME. 

fatal  eight  per  cent.,  which,  in  reality,  means  fully 
sixteen  !  Put  into  the  deposit-vaults  of  your  memory 
the  diligent  results  of  your  study.  Those  you  put  in 
earliest  will  pay  the  most  profit.  When  you  are 
thirty  years  old  there  will  be  few  with  heavier  coffers. 
You  will  have  little  need  to  complain  of 

FAVORITISM   AND    DISCRIMINATION 

then.  On  the  contrary,  you  will,  strangely  enough, 
hear  many  lay  that  very  charge  against  those  wise 
old  men  who  have  been  observing  you  and  peep- 
ing into  your  treasure-chests  when  you  were  not  on 
the  watch.  To  the  man,  fortunate  in  his  youth  in 
having  been 

ADVISED    RIGHTLY, 

who  has  not  misspent  a  moment  of  his  time,  "the 
thought  of  the  last  bitter  hour  "  will  not  "  come  like 
a  blight,"  and  there  will  be  no  "  sad  images  of  the 
stern  agony."  The  wise  and  good  man,  who  has  the 
unmixed  reverence  of  the  great  and  the  humble, 
whose  "  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory,"  approaches 
his  grave  "  like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his 
couch  about  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams.'1 
"  I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  time  waste  me  !  "  is 


THE   FLIGHT    OF    TIME.  29 

the  cry  of  a  misspent  life.  If  you  have  cast  away  a 
portion  of  your  existence,  I  beg  of  you  to  transfix 
this  public  notice  before  your  companions  that  they 
may  profit  by  your  experience  : 

"  LOST ! 

"  Yesterday,  somewhere  between  sunrise  and  sunset, 
two  golden  hours,  each  set  with  sixty  diamond  minutes, 
the  gift  of  a  kind  Father  !  " 

HASTE    AND    WASTE. 

The  value  of  Time  should  never  be  so  foolishly 
conceived  as  to  urge  a  man  or  a  woman  to  that  hurry 
which  shows  a  thing  to  be  too  big  for  him  who  under- 
takes it.  God  makes  Time.  Can  you,  then,  add  to 
it  ?  "  Stay  a  while  to  make  an  end  the  sooner." 
You  do  not  gain  an  hour  by  robbing  yourself  of  your 
sleep.  You  do  not  gain  in  force  by  enlarging  the 
wheel  that  carries  your  belting.  If  your  constitution 
require  eight  hours'  sleep,  then  go  to  your  bed  at  ten 
o'clock  and  rise  like  "the  sun  rejoicing  in  the  east," 
fresh-nerved  and  forceful,  apt  to  carry  all  before  you. 
Do  not  encourage  those  tempters  who  come  to  you 
asking  you  to  break  into  the  storehouse  of  your  vital- 
ity and  rob  yourself  of  two,  three,  and  often  four 


3° 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    TIME. 


hours  of  your  rest,  leaving  you,  in  the  bankruptcy 
of  afterlife  a  trembling  alarmist,  subject  to  the  replevins 
of  rheumatic  muscles  and  the  reprisals  of  revengeful 
nerves.  Remember  that  age  comes  upon  us  like  a 
snowstorm  in  the  night,  and  that  the  mill  will  never 
grind  with  the  water  that  has  passed.  Time  is  the  stern 
corrector  of  fools  ;  "  Wisdom  walks  before  it,  Oppor- 
tunity with  it,  and  Temperance  behind  it.  He  that 
has  made  it  his  friend  will  have  little  to  fear  from  h's 
enemies,  but  he  that  has  made  it  his  enemy  will  ha?  e 
little  to  hope  from  his  friends." 


"T\s  sweet  to  hear  the  honest  watchdog's  bark 
Bay  deep-mouthed  welcome  as  we  draw  near  home  ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  know  that  the^e  is  an  eye  will  mark 

Our  coming,  and  look  brighter  when  we  come. — BYRON. 

An  elegant  sufficiency,  content, 

Retirement,  rural,  quiet,  friendship,  books, 

Ease  and  alternate  labor,  useful  life, 

Progressive  virtue,  and  approving  Heaven. — THOMSON. 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces,  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home. 

— J.  H.  PAYNE,  IN  THE  OPERA  OF  "CLARI." 


O  word  in  the  English  language 
approaches  in  sweetness  the  sound 
of  this  group  of  letters.     Out  of 
this,  grand  syllable  rush  memories 
and  emotions  always  chaste,  and 
always  noble.    The  murderer  in  his  cell, 
his  heart  black  with  crime,  hears  this 
%  word,  and  his  crimes  have  not  yet  been 
committed  ;  his  heart  is  yet  pure    and 
free  ;  in  his  mind  he  kneels  at  his  moth- 
er's  side  and  lisps  his  prayers  to  God 
that  he,  by  a  life  of  dignity  and  honor, 
may  gladden  that  mother's  heart  ;  and 


32  HOME. 

then  he  weeps,  and  for  a  while  is  not  a  murderer. 
The  Judge  upon  his  bench  deals  out  the  dreaded  jus- 
tice to  the  scourged,  and  has  no  look  of  gentleness. 
But  breathe  this  word  into  his  ear,  his  thoughts  fly 
to  his  fireside  ;  his  heart  relents  ;  he  is  no  longer  Jus- 
tice, but  weak  and  tender  Mercy. 

What  makes  that  small,  unopened  missive  so 
precious  to  that  great  rough  man?  Why,  'tis  from 
Home — from  Home,  that  spot  to  which  his  heart  is 
tied  with  unseen  cords  and  tendrils  tighter  than  the 
muscles  which  hold  it  in  his  swelling  chest.  Perhaps 
he  left  his  Home  caring  little  for  it  at  the  time.  Per- 
haps harsh  necessity  drove  him  from  its  tender  roof 
to  lie  beneath 

THE    THATCH    OF    AVARICE. 

It  does  not  matter.  As  the  great  river  broadens  in 
the  Spring,  so  do  his  feelings  swell  and  overflow  his 
nature  now.  Why  does  he  tremble, — that  rough, 
weather-beaten  man?  Because  there  is  but  one  place 
on  the  great  earth  where  "an  eye  will  mark  his 
coming  and  grow  brighter."  If  that  beacon  still 
burns  for  him,  he  can  continue  his  voyage.  If  it  has 


inaiimmiiiiHiamim 


CHILDHOOD. 

"  Childhood  is  the  bough  where  slumbered 

Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered; 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbered." 


HUME.  33 

gone  out,  if  anything  has  happened  to  it,  his  way  is 
dark  ;  nothing  but  the  abiding  hand  of  the  Great 
Father  can  steady  his  helm  and  hold  him  to  his  des- 
olate course. 

The  man  who  wandered  "  mid  pleasures  and  pal- 
aces," had  no  Home,  and  when  he  died  he  died  on  the 
bleak  shores  of  Northern  Africa,  and  was  buried 
where  he  died,  at  the  city  of  Tunis,  where  he  held 
the  office  of  United  States  Consul.  "  To  Adam," 
says  Bishop  Hare,  "  Paradise  was  Home.  To  the  good 
among  his  descendants, 

HOME    IS    PARADISE." 

"Are  you  not  surprised,"  writes  Dr.  James  Hamilton, 
"  to  find  how  independent  of  money  peace  of  con- 
science is,  and  how  much  happiness  can  be  condensed 
in  the  humblest  home?  A  cottage  will  not  hold  the 
bulky  furniture  and  sumptuous  accommodations  of  a 
mansion  ;  but  if  love  be  there,  a  cottage  will  hold  as 
much  happiness  as  might  stock  a  palace."  "  To  be 
happy  at  home,"  writes  Dr.  Johnson  in  the  Rambler, 
"is  the  ultimate  result  of  all  ambition,  the  end  to  which 
every  enterprise  and  labor  tends,  and  of  which  every 

3 


34  HOME. 

desire  prompts  the  prosecution."  In  the  mind  of  the 
good  there  gather  about  the  old  Home, 

HALO  UPON  HALO  OF  FOND  THOUGHT, 

of  nearly  idolatrous  memory.  Upon  this  very  green, 
the  joyous  march  of  youth  went  on.  Here  the  glad 
days  whirled  round  like  wheels.  At  morn  the  laugh 
was  loud  ;  at  eve  the  laughter  rang.  To-day,  per- 
haps the  most  joyous  of  the  flock  lies  in  the  earth. 
Perhaps  the  chief  spirit  of  the  wildest  gambols  is 
bent  with  sharp  affliction ;  the  one  that  loved  his 
mother  best  is  in  a  foreign  land  ;  the  one  that  doubled 
her  small  cares  with  dolls  goes  every  week  to  gaze 
at  little  gravestones,  and  the  one  that  would  not  stay 
in  bed  upon  the  sun's  bright  rise  now  sits  in  awful 
blindness.  You  cannot  rob  these  hearts  of  their 
sweet  memories.  The  mystic  keyword  unlocks  the 
gates.  The  peaceful  waters  flow  ;  the  thirsty  soul  is 
satisfied. 

THE    LONG    AGO. 

A  lady  opens  a  short  epistle  from  her  brother.  He 
is  rich,  successful,  busy,  in  short  driven,  cannot  visit 
her  at  a  certain  date,  regrets,  with  love,  etc.,  all  in 
ten  short  lines.  What  does  this  dry  notice  tell?  It 


HOME.  35 

•v 

tells  of  a  buffalo-robe  which,  by  much  strategy,  can 
be  secured  from  father's  study ;  it  tells  of  a  daring, 
rollicking  boy  who  has  got  the  strategy  and  will  soon 
get  the  buffalo-robe.  It  tells  of  two  boys  and  three 
girls,  all  gathered  in  the  robe,  with  the  rollicking  one 
as  fireman  and  engineer,  making  the  famous  trip 
down  the  stairs  which  shall  tumble  them  all  into  the 
presence  of  a  parent  who  will. make  a  weak  demon- 
stration of  severity,  clearly  official,  and  merely 
masking  a  very  evident  inclination  to  try  a  trip  on 
the  same  train. 

WHERE    WAS    THIS? 

Why  at  the  dear  old  Home,  in  the  Long  Ago.  Who 
was  the  fireman  and  engineer  ?  Why,  this  great, 
pompous  man  of  business,  whose  short  note  his  sister 
has  just  laid  down — of  course,  he  was  the  fireman 
and  the  engineer  ! 

We  see  the  sister  of  Rembrandt,  the  painter,  travel' 
ing  weary  miles  to  the  house  of  the  brother  whom 
in  youth  she  shielded  from  the  wrath  of  a  drunken 
father,  whose  rude  pictures  she  concealed  from  eyes 
that  would  have  looked  upon  them  in  anger.  Now 
he  is  the  most  celebrated  painter  of  his  time.  He  is 


36  HOME. 

rich  beyond  the  imagination  of  his  humble  contem- 
poraries. He  never  receives  people  into  his  stronghold. 

TWO    GREAT   DOGS    GUARD    THE    ENTRANCE. 

Into  a  gloomy  portal  the  aged  sister  enters,  and  soon 
the  miser  and  the  good  angel  of  his  past  are  together. 
There  they  sit  in  the  dusk,  and  recall,  after  sixty 
years  of  separation,  the  scenes  of  the  Home  which 
existed  eighty  years  before  !  We  marvel  at  a  word 
that  comes  along  a  cable  under  the  ocean.  Why 
should  we  not  also  wonder  at  a  little  word  that  can 
sound  across  the  awful  stretch  of  eighty  years, 
through 

AN    OCEAN    OF    LIFE, 

stormy  with  fearful  disappointments,  boisterous  with 
seasons  of  success,  and  desolate  with  the  drift,  the 
slime,  and  the  fungus  of  miserly  greed  ! 

Says  Dickens:  "If  ever  household  affections  and 
loves  are  graceful  things,  they  are  graceful  in  the 
poor.  The  ties  that  bind  the  wealthy  and  proud  to 
Home  may  be  forged  on  earth,  but  those  which  link 
the  poor  man  to  his  humble  hearth  are  of  the  true 
metal,  and  bear  the  stamp  of  heaven." 

If  men  knew  what  felicity  dwells  in  the  cottage  of 


HOME.  37 

a  godly  man,"  writes  Jeremy  Taylor,  "how  sound  he 
sleeps,  how  quiet  his  rest,  how  composed  his  mind, 
how  free  from  care,  how  easy  his  position,  how  moist 
his  mouth,  how  joyful  his  heart,  they  would  never 
admire  the  noises,  the  diseases,  the  throngs  of  pas 
sions,  and  the  violence  of  unnatural  appetites  that  fill 
the  house  of  the  luxurious  and  the  heart  of  the 
ambitious." 

It  has  happened  within  a  hundred  years  that  men 
of  private  station  have  become  Kings.  One  of  the 
severest  trials  of  their  exalted  lot  has  been  the  disaster 
which  came  upon  their  homes. 

KINGS    HAVE    NO    HOMES. 

I  am  told  that  the  Presidents  of  the  United  States 
have  complained  very  naturally  that  they  are  denied 
that  privacy  which  is  accorded  to  the  lowliest  citizen 
in  the  land.  It  should  content  the  possessor  of  a 
Home  that  he  has  that  which  Kings  cannot  have,  and 
which  if  it  be  bright  and  free  from  wrong,  is  more 
valuable  than  palaces  and  marble  halls.  Of  this 
golden  ri^ht  of  asylum  in  the  Home,  Abraham  Cowley 
has  wriittn  :  "  Democritus  relates,  as  if  he  gloried  in 
the  good  fortune  of  it,  that  when  he  came  to  Athens, 


38  HOME. 

nobody  there  did  so  much  as  take  notice  of  him  ;  and 
Epicurus  lived  there  very  well,  that  is,  lay  hid  many 
years  in  his  gardens,  so  famous  since  that  time,  with 
his  friend  Metrodorus  ;  after  whose  death,  making,  in 
one  of  his  letters,  a  kind  commemoration  of  the 
happiness  which  they  two  had  enjoyed  together,  he 
adds  at  last  that  he  thought  it  no  disparagement  to 
those  great  felicities  of  their  life,  that,  in  the  midst  of 
that  most  talked-of  and  talking  country  in  the  world, 
they  had  lived  so  long,  not  only  without  fame,  but 
almost  without  being  heard  of ;  and  yet,  within  a  very 
few  years  afterward,  there  were 

NO    TWO    NAMES    OF    MEN    MORE    KNOWN 

or  more  generally  celebrated.  If  we  engage  into  a 
large  acquaintance  and  various  familiarities,  we  set 
open  our  gates  to  the  invaders  of  most  of  our  time  ; 
we  expose  our  life  to  an  ague  of  frigid  impertinences 
which  would  make  a  wise  man  tremble  to  think  of." 
What  makes  the  remembrance  of  the  old  Home 
so  happy?  Was  it  not  because  there  the  storms  of 
life  were  turned  away  from  us  by  those  who  bore  the 
blasts  to  keep  us  in  our  innocence?  And  now  that 
future  which  then  was  on  our  horizon  has  neared  us 


and  is  our  zenith,  the  centre  of  our  heavens.  About 
us  are 

PRATTLING    LITTLE    ONES 

who  in  the  far-off  years  will  clothe  this  house  about 
with  that  holy  mantle  which  will  give  it  the  right  to 
that  same  grand  title,  Home.  Can  we  not,  in  thinking 
of  the  good  old  Home,  stand  a  little  nearer  to  the 
blast  and  warm  some  tiny  heart  a  little  more?  Does 
the  merry  laugh  sing  out  as  it  did  in  our  own  youth? 
Then  this  is  indeed  a  Home,  growing  each  day  more 
sacred  in  the  mind  of  those  fledglings  who  will  so 
soon  fly  from  the  nest  to  beat  a  fluttering  and  a  weary 
way  through  the  tempests  that  will  encompass  them. 
A  Christmas-tree,  a  picnic,  a  May-day  festival,  make 
trouble  for  limbs  already  weary  with  labor,  but 

IT  IS  THE  WEARINESS  AND  THE  SELF-SACRIFICE 

as  well  as  the  mirth  and  the  innocence  which  have 
girt  this  great  word  round  about  with  its  bright  girdle 
of  true  glory.  u  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto 
me,"  says  the  Lord  Jesus,  "  and  forbid  them  not,  for 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  We  may  say 
likewise,  following  the  beauteous  expression  of  our 
Savior,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  into  our  homes, 


40  HOME. 

and  lorbid  them  not  their  mirth  and  their  Joy,  for 
their  contentment  is  now  the  one  lesson  that  will  take 
deep  hold  on  their  lives,  and  their  souls  will  grow 
rapidly  in  such  surroundings.  Says  the  poet  Southey  : 
"  A  house  is  never  perfectly  furnished  for  enjoyment 
unless  there  is  a  child  in  it  rising  three  years  old,  and 
a  kitten  rising  six  weeks." 

"  He'is  the  happiest,1'  says  Goethe,  "  be  he  King  or 
peasant,  who  finds  peace  in  his  Home."  Especially 
should 

THE    YOUNG    MAN 

be  taught  the  value  of  a  Home.  If  his  advisers  lay 
before  him  the  lesson  of  life  in  all  its  aspects,  he  will 
indeed  be  a  prodigal  if  he  have  not  a  Home  of  his  own 
almost  immediately  upon  leaving  the  fatherly  roof. 
There  are  no  reasons,  no  exceptions,  which  relieve 
the  healthy,  able-bodied  young  man  from  an  early 
advance  on  the  enemies  who  threaten  the  welfare  of 
the  citizen.  The  strongest  fortification  which  the 
human  heart  can  throw  up  against  temptatation  is 
the  Home.  Certain  men  are  almost  invincible  against 
the  onslaughts  of  the  many  base  allurements  which 
wreak  such  misery  on  all  sides  of  us.  Why  are  they 


HOME.  41 

so  firm  ?  It  is  because  a  glorious  example  has  stood 
before  their  minds,  a  liberal  and  older  knowledge  of 
the  world  has  aided  their  early  endeavors,  and  a 
plentiful  advice  has  fastened  in  their  understandings 
the  wisdom  of  virtue  and  industry.  If  yovfr  sons 
have  Homes  of  their  own,  you  can  leave  them,  as  a 
great  General  leaves  his  lieutenants  to  occupy  a 
country,  here  a  fortress  held  in  safety,  there  a  can- 
tonment with  natural  defenses,  and  there  a  "  city  on  a 
hill,"  while  you  advance  into  those  other  regions 
which  are  written  on  the  map  of  your  destiny,  "  sus- 
tained by  the  unfaltering  trust "  that  you  have  kept 
the  great  obligation  imposed  on  you,  and  handled 
your  forces  for  the  best  advantage  of  the  cause  you 
served. 


Delightful  task  !  to  rear  the  tender  thought, 

To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot. — THOMSON. 


Y  the  general  voice  of  mankind, 
children  are  held  to  be  a  blessing 
to  the  good.  Where  the  bonds  of 
|L  love  do  not  tighten  as  the  children 
Y  grow,  it  is  like  those  cases  where 
the  chords  and  muscles  do  not  fasten  together 
after  a  hurt — there  has  been  malpractice. 
Let  us  not  live  like  quacks.  There  are 
some  general  rules  in  life  which  will  lead  us 
toward  a  greater  enjoyment  of  our  children's 
lives.  Through  them  and  their  issue  we 
become  immortal  on  this  earth.  Death  can- 
not sweep  us  down  entirely.  We  leave  our 
lives  set  in  a  younger  cast  of  flesh,  to  hold  the  fight 
against  the  enemy.  While  they  thus  serve  us,  to 
guard  us  from  extinction,  we  also  stand  as  their  am- 
bassadors in  heaven,  presently  to  go  on  our  mission,— 
first  to  finish  our  own  preparations,  and  then  to  begin 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS  43 

those  of  our  offspring,  who  will  follow  in  our  foot- 
steps. Says  Shakspeare  :  "  The  voice  of  parents  is 
the  voice  of  gods,  for  to  their  children  they  are 
heaven's  lieutenants."  Our  experience  teaches  us  that 
virtue  and  honesty  are  in  themselves  great  rewards. 
Whether  we  be  virtuous  and  honest  matters  little  in 
our  estimation  of  the  value  of  those  qualities.  The 
thief,  quaking  before  the  Judge,  cannot  but  compare 
his  own  lot  with  that  of  the  good  man  who  sits  above 
him.  The  one  has  followed  every  bent  of  his  inclina- 
tion, which  gradually  became  more  and  more  capri- 
cious, more  difficult  to  satisfy.  The  other  put  on  a 
steadying  curb  in  early  life,  denied  himself  nine  times 
where  he  humored  himself  once,  and 

FINALLY    HAD    A    CHARACTER 

which  made  few  demands  upon  him,  and  whose  de- 
mands were  decent  and  in  order.  Thus  "  some  as 
corrupt  in  their  morals  as  vice  could  make  them,  have 
yet  been  solicitous  to  have  their  children  soberly,  virtu- 
ously, and  piously  brought  up."  We  therefore,  on 
every  ground,  must  teach  our  children  religion,  dig 
nity,  and  probity.  "Parents,"  says  Jeremy  Taylor, 
"  must  give  good  example  and  reverent  deportment 


44  DUTIES    OF    PARENTS. 

in  the  presence  of  their  children.  And  all  those 
instances  of  charity  which  usually  endear  each  other — 
sweetness  of  conversation,  affability,  frequent  admoni- 
tion— all  significations  of  love  and  tenderness,  care 
and  watchfulness,  must  be  expressed  toward.children; 
that  they  may  look  upon  their  parents  as  their  friends 
and  patrons,  their  defence  and  sanctuary,  their  treasure 
and  their  guide." 

FATHER    AND    SON. 

Says  Sir  R.  Steele:  "  It  is  the  most  beautiful  object 
the  eyes  of  man  can  behold  to  see  a  man  of  worth 
and  his  son  live  in  an  entire,  unreserved  correspond- 
ence. The  mutual  kindness  and  affection  between 
them  give  an  inexpressible  satisfaction  to  all  who 
know  them.  It  is  a  sublime  pleasure  which  increases 
by  the  participation.  It  is  as  sacred  as  friendship,  as 
pleasurable  as  love,  and  as  joyful  as  religion.  This 
state  of  mind  does  not  only  dissipate  sorrow  which 
would  be  extreme  without  it,  but  enlarges  pleasures 
which  would  otherwise  be  contemptible.  The  most 
indifferent  thing  has  its  force  and  beauty  when  it  is 
spoken  by  a  kind  father,  and  an  insignificant  trifle  has 
its  weight  when  offered  by  a  dutiful  child.  I  know 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS.  45 

ru  t  how  to  express  it,  but  I  think  I  may  call  it  a 
transplanted  self-love." 

THE    OCCUPATION. 

"The  time  will  be  coming — is  come,  perhaps — 
when  your  young  people  must  decide  on  the  course 
and  main  occupation  of  their  future  lives.  You  will 
expect  to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter.  Quite  right, 
if  a  voice  of  counsel,  of  remonstrance,  oi  suggestion, 
of  pointing  out  unsuspected  difficulties,  of  encourage- 
ment by  developing  the  means  of  success.  Such  a 
voice  as  that  from  an  elder  will  always  be  listened  to. 
But  perhaps  your  have  already  settled  in  your  own 
mind  the  calling  to  be  followed,  and  you  mean  simply 
to  call  on  the  youngster  to  accept  and  register  your 
decree  on  the  opening  pages  of  his  autobiography. 
This  is,  indeed  a  questionable  proceeding,  unless  you 
are  perfectly  assured  of  what  the  young  man's  un- 
biased choice  will  be." 

THE    DAUGHTER.' 

"  Certain  it  is,"  said  Addison,  "  that  there  is  no 
kind  of  affection  so  purely  angelic  as  that  of  a  father 
to  a  daughter.  He  beholds  her  both  with  and  without 
regard  to  her  sex.  In  love  to  our  sons  there  is  ambi- 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS. 

tion,  but  in  that  to  our  daughters  there  is  something 
which  there  are  no  words  to  express."  "  There  is, 
however,  an  unkind  measure  by  which  a  few  persons 
strive  to  avoid  living  by  themselves  in  their  old  age. 
They  selfishly  prevent  their  children  (principally  their 
daughters)  from  marrying,  in  order  to  retain  them 
around  them  at  home.  Certainly  matches  are  now 
and  then  projected  which  it  is  the  duty  of  a  parent 
to  oppose  ;  but  there  are  two  kinds  of  opposition,  a 
conscientious  and  sorrowful  opposition,  and  an  egotis- 
tical and  captious  opposition,  and  men  and  women,  in 
their  self-deception,  may  sometimes  mistake  the  one 
for  the  other.  '  Marry  your  daughters  lest  they  marry 
themselves,  and  run  off  with  the  ploughman  or  the 
groom '  is  an  axiom  of  worldly  wisdom.  Marry 
your  daughters,  if  you  can  do  so  satisfactorily,  that 
they  may  become 

HAPPY    WIVES    AND    MOTHERS, 

fulfilling  the  destiny  allotted  to  them  by  their  Great 
Creator.  Marry  them,  if  worthy  suitors  offer,  lest 
they  remain  single  and  unprotected  after  your  depar- 
ture. Marry  them,  lest  they  say,  in  their  bitter 
disappointment  and  loneliness,  '  Our  parents  thought 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS.  47 

only  of  their  own  comfort  and  convenience.  We 
now  find  that  our  welfare  and  settlement  in  life  was 
disregarded  ! '  But  I  am  sure  my  hard-hearted  com- 
rade in  years,"  continues  this  aged  writer,  "  that  you 
are  more  generous  to  your  own  dear  girls  than  to 
dream  of  preventing  the  completion  of  their  own 
little  romance  in  order  to  keep  them  at  home,  pining 
as  your  waiting  minds." 

THANKING   DEATH. 

One  of  the  most  learned  observations  to  parents 
has  been  made  by  Lord  Burleigh.  "Bring  thy 
children  up,"  said  he,  in  "  learning  and  obedience,  yet 
without  outward  austerity.  Give  them  good  counte- 
nance and  convenient  maintenance,  according  to  thy 
ability  ;  otherwise  thy  life  will  seem  their  bondage, 
and  what  portion  thou  shalt  leave  them  at  thy  death, 
they  will  thank  death  for  it,  and  not  thee  ! " 

EDUCATION. 

"I  suppose  it  never  occurs  to  parents,"  says  John 
Foster,  in  his  Journal,  "  that  to  throw  vilely-educated 
young  people  on  the  world  is,  independently  of  .the 
injury  to  the  young  people  themselves,  a  positive 
crime,  and  of  very  great  magnitude  ;  as  great,  for 


48  DUTIES    OF   PARENTS. 

instance,  as  ourning  their  neighbors  house,  or  poison- 
ing the  water  in  his  well.  In  pointing  out  to  them 
what  is  wrong,  even  if  they  acknowledge  the  justness 
of  the  statement,  one  cannot  make  them  feel  a  sense 
of  guilt,  as  in  other  proved  charges.  That  they  love 
their  children  extenuates  to  their  consciences  every 
parental  folly  that  may  at  last  produce  in  the  child- 
ren every  desperate  vice."  As  to  this  matter  of 
education, 

OUR   GREAT    SCHOOLS 

have  taken  it  largely  out  of  the  parents'  hands  to 
guide  the  course  of  instruction,  and  where  this  would 
be  done  logically,  I  cannot  but  feel  it  is  to  the  disad- 
vantage of  the  child  ;  but  the  system  is  built  for 
public,  not  for  individual  benefit,  and  will  probably 
do  the  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number.  If  we 
could  have  a  little  less  Latin  and  a  little  better  spelling, 
a  little  less  long  Latin  and  a  little  more  good  short 
Saxon  I  believe  our  youth  would  make  their  mark 
easier.  Our  young  people  dislike  interest  tables  and 
are  delighted  with  long  words.  Under  the  present 
system  and  popular  taste,  our  children  despise 

THE    LANGUAGE    OF    THE    BIBLE 

until  they  are  thirty  years  old,  whereafter  they  grad- 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS.  49 

ually  learn  that  the  very  essence  of  artful  language 
is  contained  in  its  pages.  There  is  not  much  need 
of  a  long  word  when  a  short  one  sounds  better.  "  The 
Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want.  He  maketh 
me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures.  He  leadeth  me 
beside  the  still  waters.1'  How  like  the  ripple  of  a 
brook  the  syllables  drop  from  the  tongue  !  The  fall 
of  the  voice,  and  the  fall  of  the  idea,  make  the 
passage  a  lovely  instance  oj  the  highest  art  in  poetical 
expression.  If  our  youth  could  be  taught  respect, 
attention,  multiplication  and  division,  spelling,  short 
words,  short  sentences,  Bible,  Shakspeare,  and  geo- 
graphy, and  could  spend  less  time  conjugating  foreign 
verbs,  there  would  be  a  really  higher  grade  of  intelli- 
gence in  the  end,  perhaps,  and  there  would,  above 
all,  be  more  of  that  glorious  independence  of  mind 
which  makes  a  thing  worthy  of  commendation  because 
it  is  appreciated,  not  because  somebody  else  has  said 
it  is  good. 

WORSHIP. 

The  Catholics  say  that  if  they  may  have  the  spirit- 
ual culture  of  the  child  till  he  is  ten  years  of  age, 
they  will  willingly  surrender  him  into  the  hands  of 


5°  DUTIES   OF   PARENTS. 

the  teachers  of  any  other  faith,  resting  secure  in  the 
permanency  of  early  teachings.  The  great  value  of 
early  religious  instruction  has  always  been  conceded 
by  the  most  learned.  "  The  first  thing,  therefore," 
says  Dr.  Priestly,  "  that  a  Christian  will  naturally 
inculcate  upon  his  child,  as  soon  as  he  is  capable  of 
receiving  such  impressions,  is  the  knowledge  of  his 
Maker,  and  a  steady  principle  of  obedience  to  Him  ; 
the  idea  of  his  living  under  a  constant  inspection  and 
government  of  an  invisible  being,  who  will  raise  him 
from  the  dead  to  an  immortal  life,  and  who  will 
reward  and  punish  him  hereafter  according  to  his 
character  and  actions  here. 

ON    THESE    PLAIN    PRINCIPLES 

I  hesitate  not  to  assert  as  a  Christian,  that  religion 
is  the  first  rational  object  of  education.  Whatever 
be  the  fate  of  my  children  in  this  transitory  world, 
about  which  I  hope  J*am  as  solicitous  as  I  ought  to 
be,  I  would,  if  possible,  secure  a  happy  meeting  with 
them  in  a  future  and  everlasting  life." 

"A  suspicious  parent  makes  an  artful  child,"  says 
Haliburton.  A  tender  parent  makes  a  wayward 
son.  A  cruel  parent  makes  a  timid  son.  Be  harsh 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS.  51 

when  harshness  is  necessary,  but  be  kind  when  kind- 
ness is  needful,  for  as  the  grass  of  the  fields  needs  the 
light  of  the  sun,  so  does  the  human  heart  yearn 
for  sympathy  and  kindness,  in  all  the  years  of  its 
wonderful  growth.  Parents  may  in  a  great  measure 
do  much  of  the  teaching  which  that 

NOTORIOUSLY  HARSH  SCHOOLMASTER,  EXPERIENCE, 

deals  out,  who  beats  our  boys  and  girls  so  brutally. 
I  cannot,  in  closing  this  chapter,  do  better  than  to 
quote  the  words  of  wise  old  Roger  Ascham  :  "  He 
hazardeth  sore  that  maketh  wise  by  experience.  An 
unhappy  sailor  he  is  that  is  made  wise  by  many  ship- 
wrecks, a  miserable  merchant  that  is  neither  rich  nor 
wise  but  after  some  bankrouts.  It  is  a  marvelous  pain 
to  find  a  short  way  by  long  wandering.  He  needs 
must  be  a  swift  runner  that  runneth  fast  out  of 
his  way.  And  look  well  upon  the  former  life  of  those 
few  who  have  gathered,  by  long  experience,  a  little 
wisdom  and  some  happiness  ;  and  when  you  do  con- 
sider what  mischief  they  have  committed,  what 
dangers  they  have  escaped  (and  yet  twenty  for  one 
do  perish  in  the  adventure)  then  think  well  with  your- 


52 


DUTIES    OF    PARENTS. 


self  whether  you  would  that  your  own  son  should 
come  to  wisdom  and  happiness  by  such  experience 


or  no. 


The  noble  sister  of  Publicola, 
The  moon  of  Rome;  chaste  as  the  icicle, 
That's  curdled  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow, 
And  hangs  on  Dian's  temple. 

But  good  my  brother, 
Do  not  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 
Show  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  heaven, 
Whilst  like  a  puffed  and  reckless  libertine, 
Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads, 
And  recks  not  his  own  rede. — SHAKSPEARE. 


HERE  has  always  been  a  charm 
for   me    in    the    speech    of    the 
haughty   Coriolanus    concerning 
Valeria,  the  sister  of  Publicola. 
There  is  such  a  noble  alliance  of 
the  brother  and  the  sister.     The  one  is 
a    man  in  high   regard  ;    therefore    his 
sister  likewise  takes  on  those  correlative 
qualities  which   make  her  the  moon  of 
Rome,  the  Goddess  Diana,  as  it  were. 
The  young  man    of   good   quality   will 
begin  his  life  with  an  exalted  apprecia- 


tion of  his  sister. 


He  will  give  her  that 

[53] 


54  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

tender  regard  and  assistance  which  is  her  gentle  due, 
and  she,  in  turn,  will  form  her  ideas  of  young  men  by 
the  character  of  her  brother,  and,  in  choosing  a 
man  upon  whom  to  settle  her  womanly  affections, 
will  be  largely  guided  by  her  estimate  of  her  brother's 
manhood.  The  young  man  can  not  over-estimate 
the  importance  of  his  influence  in  this  connection. 
Depend  upon  it,  if  he  be  high-minded,  courteous,  atten- 
tive, self-sacrificing  at  the  proper  times, 

HIS  SISTER  WILL  DEMAND, 

in  the  man  who  aspires  to  be  her  companion  in  life, 
the  qualities  of  a  high  mind,  a  courteous  demeanor,  an 
attentive  inclination,  and  a  willingness  to  put  aside 
self  at  the  time  that  duty  and  manhood  demand. 
The  brother's  acquaintances  and  associates  are  often 
the  first  young  men  introduced  to  the  si  ,ler  on  terms 
of  intimacy.  If  the  brother  lower  the  standard  of 
his  life,  the  colors  of  his  house  are  also  trailed.  His 
family  pride  should  be,  and  usually  is,  one  of  the 
strongest  supports  in  holding  him  to  a  course  of 
action  that  will  retain  the  entire  respect  of  his  com- 
munity. When  a  son  with  a  sister  grown  plunges 
into  ways  of  disrepute,  there  is  no  more  sorrowful 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  55 

example  of  the  utter  selfishness  of  a  depraved  human 
heart. 

HOW  MUCH  LESS  GRASPING  IS  THE  BURGLAR 

who  is  not  willing  to  let  the  hard-working  citizen 
keep  his  earnings,  but  steals  upon  him  in  the  night 
and  robs  him  into  poverty — how  much  less  selfish,  I 
say,  is  he  than  the  brother  who  steals  upon  the  fair 
young  life  of  a  pure,  good  maiden,  brands  her  as  the 
sister  of  a  disreputable  loafer,  and  leaves  her  to  choose 
loafers  for  a  husband,  or  marry  a  stranger  who  may 
afterward  taunt  her  with  her  low  connection !  I  can 
conceive  of  no  keener  spur  to  the  young  man  of  pride 
and  purpose  than  to  keep  this  view  of  things  before 
him,  that  he  may  be  worthy  of  the  company  of  young 
men  who,  in  turn,  will  be  worthy  of  the  company  of 
his  sister. 

MANY  OF  THE  NOBLEST  YOUNG  MEN 

of  the  present  day,  when  they  go  for  a  summer 
vacation,  take  their  sisters  with  them.  The  act  gives 
them  their  first  true  knowledge  of  the  responsibilities 
attaching  to  the  care  of  a  woman — to  the  gravity  of 
married  life.  It  being  cheaper,  as  a  rule,  for  man 
and  wife  to  travel  together  than  for  brother 


56  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

and  sister,  the  brother  has  an  idea  of  future  expense 
awaiting  him  (after  he  shall  have  married)  which  is. 
on  the  right  side  of  an  estimate — that  is,  the  surplus 
side.  The  sister's  mind  is  broadened  by  this  kindness 
and  self-sacrifice  of  the  brother.  She  has  a  higher 
opinion  of  manhood,  and  her  choice  will  fall  all  the 
higher  up.  What  makes  our  finest  girls  often  go 
through  the  forest  of  maidenhood  rejecting  the  most 
promising  staffs  of  support,  and,  finally,  nearing  the 
plains  of  spinsterhood,  pick  up  in  a  panic 

THE  CROOKEDEST  STICK  OF  THE  LOT? 

It  is  mainly  the  brother's  fault.  He  has  not  shown 
her  how  much  of  a  man  he  himself  can  be,  and 
she  has  not  noticed  the  manly  qualities  of  many 
of  the  admirers  whom  she  has  passed  by  in  disdain* 
A  wise  young  woman  should  be  on  the  lookout  for 
gentleness  and  courage  in  man.  If  she  finds  those 
qualities — if  she  can  only  become  aware  they  are 
there,  her  heart  will  relent  in  spite  of  her,  and  there 
will  be  no  hesitancy  in  her  final  choice,  nor  regret  in 
her  final  retrospect. 

IN   YOUR    SISTER 

you    behold    the    exact    complement    of     yourself. 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  57 

Yourself  and  herself,  brother  and  sister,  are  the  links 
which  your  parents  have  left  to  hold  their  minds, ' 
their  qualities,  their  aggregated  development  and 
progression,  to  the  earth.  All  that  your  parents 
were,  yourself  and  your  sister  will  perpetuate,  adding 
the  acquirements  of  your  own  lives.  You  have  in 
your  sister  an  opportunity  for  self -study  without  its 
like  or  equal.  Where  your  sister  is  weak,  there  are 
you  weak  (naturally)  also.  Your  vanity  may  con- 
ceal the  fact  in  your  own  nature,  but  her  character 
will  express  it  to  you. 

STRENGTHEN    UP    THESE    POINTS. 

As  the  calker  goes  through  the  hold  of  the  ship, 
peering  intently  for  light,  or  listening  for  the  trickling 
of  water,  so  should  you,  in  observing  your  sister's  char- 
acter and  family  peculiarities,  find  and  calk  up  all  the 
treacherous  leaks  in  your  own  nature.  Her  care- 
lessness is  your  forgetfulness.  Mend  it.  Her  heedless- 
ness  is  undoubtedly  your  recklessness.  Send  out 
scouts.  Her  impatiertce  is  possibly  your  high  temper. 
Hit  yourself  when  you  are  in  rage,  and  thus  learn  its 
folly.  I  know  of  a  man  who  once  came  within  an 
inch  of  braining  his  fellow-soldier.  They  were  lying 


58  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

on  the  grass,  when  the  fellow  struck  my  friend  a  smart 
blow  with  the  iron  ramrod  of  a  Springfield  musket, 
all  in  fun,  you  know.  My  friend  was  like  Cowper, 
who  wrote  : 

The  man  who  hails  you  Tom  or  Jack, 
And  proves,  by  thumping  on  your  back 

His  sense  of  your  great  merit. 
Is  such  a  friend  as  one  had  need 
Be  very  much  his  friend,  indeed, 

To  pardon  or  to  bear  it. 

Well,  he  felt  the  smart  of  the  iron  ramrod,  and  his 
fury  rose  in  a  whirlwind  ;  and  he  got  up,  took  the 
musket  by  the  barrel,  raised  it  back  for  an  awful 
blow,  and  was  just  about  to  crush  the  head  of  the 
joker  when  a  white  face  and  the  simple  word  "Jim  !  " 
brought  him  to  his  senses.  He  dropped  the  musket 
and  sank  upon  the  grass  in  a  paroxysm  of  excitement, 
but  was  saved  from  murder  just  by  a  hair's  breadth. 
He  had  never  curbed  his  temper  before.  Here  he 
had  been  forced  to  overcome  the  fury  of  a  building 
all  in  flames.  The  lesson  sank  deep  into  his  heart. 
To-day  nobody  knows  he  has  any  temper  at  all. 
THE  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE. 

Again,  as  you  are  influential  in  the  matter  of   the 
future  prospects  of  your   sister,   and   can   probably 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  59 

elevate  her  lot  by  your  aid  in  forming  her  character, 
BO,  too  is  she  often,  though  to  a  smaller  degree,  potent 
in  turning  the  tides  of  your  life.  She  has  dear  friends 
of  her  own  sex.  They  are  at  your  house.  They 
may  come  to  see  you  by  coming  to  see  her.  You 
meet  these  girls  at  your  home,  and,  perhaps,  some  day 
you  wake  up  in  love.  Now,  if  your  sister,  who 
admits  these  maidens  into  your  home,  has  that  true 
womanhood  which  is  so  admirable,  you  are  certain  to 
have  fallen  in  love  with  one  of  the  finest  young 
women  in  town,  and  it  is 

A    LUCKY    DAY    FOR   YOU, 

for  young  women  usually  keep  away  from  young  men 
for  whose  character  they  have  no  regard.  Do  not, 
however,  get  into  the  opinion  that  you  are  irresistible, 
or  anywise  attractive.  It  will  give  you  many  wounds. 
Young  women  detect  masculine  vanity  of  this  order 
with  a  quickness  that  is  appalling  to  the  young  man 
They  may  have  had  no  thought  of  you  at  all !  They 
will  then,  all  the  readier,  become  influenced  by  your 
good  points,  and,  above  all,  by  your  habitual  good 
treatment  of  your  sister.  Be,  therefore,  on  your  guard, 


60  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

even  in  self-interest,    which  is  a   low   guide  of  action, 
nevertheless — but 

EVEN  FOR   THIS   IGNOBLE    REASON. 

• 

Watch  over  your  sister,  to  protect  her  from  any 
association  whatever  with  bad  young  men,  to  minister 
to  her  wants,  to  help  your  parents  minister  to  her 
health,  and  to  love  her  with  a  sincere  affection,  for 
as  long  as  you  live,  you  will  find  her  devotion 
unchangeable,  through  good  and  evil  report.  This 
same  sister  may  be  your  companion  all  through  your 
life.  Where  single  life  becomes  the  destiny  of  both 
brother  and  sister  this  often  happens.  In  almost  every 
neighborhood  there  are  two  persons  thus  domiciled, 
honorably  fullfilling  their  duties  to  society,  and  often 
doing  greater  public  service  than  any  other  two 
people  of  the  community.  Look  therefore  upon  your 
sister  as  perhaps  the  best  friend  you  will  have 

AFTER    THE    DEATH    OF    YOUR    MOTHER. 

Consider  her  as  the  person  whose  interests  may  be 
more  closely  allied  with  your  own  than  those  of  any 
other  soul  on  earth.  It  certainly  cannot  lessen  your 
respect  for  the  high  relation  she  sustains  toward  your 
life  and  your  happiness.  Counsel  her  in  .  exceeding 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


6l 


kindness,  for  you  will  find  her  inclined  to  retort,  as 
did  Ophelia  to  her  brother  Laertes,  at  the  head  of 
this  chapter,  bidding  you  be  sure  you  "  reck  your  own 
rede,"  which  was  an  an  ancient  form  of  admonishing 
one  to  heed  his  own  advice. 


\ 


Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting : 
The  soul  that  riseth  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 

Hath  elsewhere  had  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar: 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  darkness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory,  do  we  come 

From  God  who  is  our  home  : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy. — WORDSWORTH. 


IKE    virgin  parchment,"  says 
Montaigne,  "  youth  is  capable 
of    any  inscription."      Let    us 
have    only    those    inscriptions 
^\,  which  will  do  us  honor  in  the 
long  years  that  the  parchment 
will  unroll  before  us.     "  Unless  a  tree  has 
borne  its  blossoms  in  the  spring,"  writes 
Bishop    Hare,  "you  will  vainly  look  for 
fruit  on  it  in  autumn."     All  through  the 
great  history  of  Thiers,  wherein  he  recites 
the   scenes  of  the  French  revolution,  the 
Consulate,   the  Empire,  and  the   rock    of 
St.  Helena,  there  runs  one  consistent  observation — 

[62] 


YOUTH.  63 

that  youth  is  noble  and  magnanimous.  The  thou- 
sands of  characters  who  "  strut  their  brief-  hour  " 
upon  the  stage  in  the  terrible  drama  which  this  his- 
torian depicts  are  young  and  generous,  lofty  and 
incorruptible.  Then  they  ripen  into  manhood,  glory 
waits  upon  their  comings  and  their  goings,  and  they 
are  soon  between  two  masters,  their  interests  and 
their  consciences.  A  circumstance  threatens  their 
early  resolutions,  an  event  overturns  their  consciences, 
and  a  selfish,  jealous,  ambitious  mind  thenceforth 
guides  the  fortunes  of  a  life. 

HOW  FORTUNATE  FOR  THE  RACE  OF  MAN 

that  when  the  mind  is  least  prejudiced  with  set  beliefs 
and  when  the  heart  is  kindliest,  it  lies  in  the  power 
of  those  who  have  the  young  near  them  to  bear  them 
frequent  counsel,  and  to  strengthen  the  natural  nobility 
of  their  natures ! 

A  great  deal  can  be  accomplished  in  the  early 
years  of  life.  Many  men  have  made  all  their  fame 
in  the  morning,  and  enjoyed  it  through  the  rest  of 
their  lives.  Alexander,  Pompey,  Hannibal,  Scipio, 
Napoleon,  Charles  XII.,  Alexander  Hamilton,  Shelley, 
Keats,  Bryant — hundreds  of  examples  readily  come 


64  YOUTH. 

to  the  recollection,  showing  how  thoroughly  the  mind 
can  be  trusted  even  in  its  immaturity.  Youth  is 
beautiful.  It  is  "  the  gay  and  pleasant  spring  of  life, 
.  when  joy  is  stirring  in  the  dancing  blood,  and  nature 
calls  us  with  a  thousand  songs  to  share  her  general 
feast."  "Keep  true  to  the  dreams  of  thy  youth," 
sings  Schiller.  We  love  the  young.  "  The  girls  we 
love  for  what  they  are,"  says  Goethe,  "  young  men 
for  what  they  promise  to  be."  "  The  lovely  time  of 
youth,"  says  Jean  Paul  Richter,  "  is 

OUR    ITALY    AND    GREECE, 

full  of  gods  and  temples."  Let  not  the  Vandals  and 
Goths  of  after-life  swoop  down  *upon  this  sunny 
region  in  our  lives  ;  yet  if  they  do,  may  we  not  look 
upon  our  noble  ruins,  our  Coliseum  and  our  Parthenon, 
in  a  kind  of  classic  love  that  shall  endear  and  sanctify 
the  rights  of  the  young  about  us  and  lengthen  out 
their  "golden  age."  Youth  should  be  young.  Says 
Shakspeare  :  "Youth  no  less  becomes 

THE  LIGHT  AND  CARELESS  LIVERY  THAT  IT  WEARS, 

than  settled  age  its  sables  and  its  weeds,  importing 
health  and  graveness."  Youth  is  like  Adam's  early 
walk  in  the  Garden  of  Paradise.  u  The  senses,"  says 


'Youth  is  our  Italy  and  Greece,  full  of  Gods  and  Temples." 

Page,  64. 


YOUTH.  65 

Edmund  Burke,  "  are  unworn  and  tender,  and  the 
whole  frame  is  awake  in  every  part."  The  dew  lies 
upon  the  grass.  No  smoke  of  busy  life  has  darkened 
or  stained  the  morning  of  our  day.  The  pure  light 
shines  about  us.  "  If  any  little  mist  happen  to  rise," 
says  Willmott,  "  the  sunbeam  of  hope  catches  and 
glorifies  it." 

Youth  is  rash.  It  "  skips  like  the  hare  over  the 
meshes  of  good  counsel,"  says  Shakspeare.  Then  let 
our  nets  and  snares  of  benevolence  be  laid  with  the 
more  cunning.  Youth  is  a  continual  intoxication," 
says  Rochefoucauld  ;  "  it  is  the  fever  of  reason."  We 
must  cool  this  fever,  spread  around  it  cheering  flowers 
of  truth,  bathe  it  in  the  water-brooks  of  gentleness 
and  self-sacrifice.  "  Young  men,"  according  to  Ches- 
terfield, "  are  apt  to  think  themselves  wise  enough,  as 
drunken  men  are  to  think  themselves  sober  enough," 
yet  joined  with  this  self-esteem,  we  find  that  "  youth 
is  ever  confiding  ;  and  we  can  almost  forgive  its  dis- 
inclination to  follow  the  counsels  of  age,  for  the  sake 
of  the  generous  disdain  with  which  it  rejects  suspic- 
ion." "  How  charming  the  young  would  be,"  writes 
Arthur  Helps,  "  with  their  freshness,  fearlessness,  and 


66  YOUTH. 

truthfulness,  if  only — to  take  a  metaphor  from  paint- 
ing— they  would  make  more  use  of  grays  and  other 
neutral  tints,  instead  of  dabbing  on  so  wrecklessly  the 
strongest  positives  in  color."  Why  should  their  colors 
not  be  rich  ?  Are  not  the  hues  upon  their  cheeks  as 
rich  as  the  sunset  ? 

DOES    NOT    THE    CHERRY 

"  dab  on  "  the  scarlet  and  the  carmine  direct  from 
the-  gorgeous  sun  himself  ?  Age  marvels  at  the 
happiness  of  youth.  The  sombre  lessons  of  the  world 
have  left  their  marks  on  the  mind  of  the  one ;  the 
other  has  everything  to  learn.  It  would  seem  as 
though  its  residence  had  been  (as  the  poet  has  written 
so  beautifully  at  the  head  of  the  chapter)  in  some 
Paradise,  whence,  it  issued  to  this  earth,  "trailing 
clouds  of  glory  "  as  it  came.  Age  has  suffered  from 
the  heats  and  dust  of  the  previous  day,  and  sees  in 
the  blood-red  "copper  sun,"  only  the  indication  of 
another  march  of  weariness  and  thirst. 

YOUTH    BREATHES    THE    DEWY    AIR, 

and  beholds  only  the  roseate  tints  of  the  sunrise. 
Why  should  not  its  heart  rejoice  ?  Says  Lord  Lytton  : 
"Let  youth  cherish  the  happiest  of  earthly  boons 


YOUTH.  67 

while  yet  it  is  at  its  command  ;  for  there  cometh  a 
day  to  all  '  when  neither  the  voice  of  the  lute  nor  the 
birds  '  shall  bring  back  the  sweet  slumbers  that  fall 
on  their  young  eyes  as  unbidden  as  the  dews."  "Youth 
holds  no  society  with  grief,"  says  old  Euripides. 
Perhaps,  rather,  it  makes  those  "  formal  calls  "  which 
have  no  feeling  in  them. 

THE   LITTLE   GIRL'S    KITTEN    DIES, 

and  the  little  human  heart  is  inconsolable  for  half  an 
hour.  In  half  a  day,  when  asked  to  tell  her  greatest 
grief,  she  will  relate  an  accident  to  her  doll,  forgetting 
the  poor  kitten  yet  waiting  for  burial  !  How  could 
those  lips  and  cheeks  retain  their  delicate  tints  if  the 
wet  seasons  of  grief  set  in  with  tropical  intensity  ? 
Lord  Lytton,  often,  in  his  highly  colored  writings, 
cries  out  "  O  youth  !  O  youth  !  "  and  there  is  a  world 
of  regret  in  the  exclamation.  "  O  the  joy  of  young 
ideas,"  sighs  Hannah  Moore,  "  painted  on  the  mind, 
in  the  warm,  glowing  colors  which  fancy  spreads  on 
objects  not  yet  known,  when  all  is  new  and  all  is 
lovely ! " 

SIR    WALTER   RALEIGH 

has  justly  claimed  the  respect  and  admiration  of  the 


68  YOUTH. 

world  for  many  high  qualities  of  mind.  One  of  the 
most  admirable  of  his  remarks  is  an  admonition  to 
youth,  which  runs  as  follows  :  "  Use  thy  youth  sc 
that  thou  mayest  have  comfort  to  remember  it  when 
it  hath  forsaken  thee,  and  not  sigh  and  grieve  at  the 
account  thereof.  Use  it  as  the  spring-time  which 
soon  departeth,  and  wherein  thou  ought est  to  plant 
and  sow  all  provisions  for  a  long  and  happy  life." 
But  this  is  difficult  to  do.  The  march  of  youth  is 
through  a  mountainous  country.  The  scenery  is 
changing,  but  the  progress  is  not  encouraging.  "  Self- 
flattered,  unexperienced,  high  in  hope  when  young," 
says  the  poet  Young,  "  with  sanguine  cheer  and 
streamers  gay,  we  cut  our  cable,  launch  into  the 
world,  and  fondly  dream  each  wind  and  star  our  friend." 
How  many  youths  have  believed  they  would,  by  merit 
alone,  rise  to  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States — 

THE    FIRST   MAN    IN    FIFTY    MILLIONS  ! 

Youth  keeps  a  diary,  into  which  it  pours  a  volume  of 
"  thought "  that  seems  a  very  mine  of  gems.  -  Take 
up  tha't  chronicle  at  middle  age  and  see  its  weak  and 
driveling  character.  Observe  the  almost  total  lack 
of  one  idea  that  will  aid  you  to  some  honorable  end  ! 


YOUTH.  69 

And  yet  there  is  something  touching  even  in  the  great 
trust  and  confidence  of  childhood.  How  sweet  and 
true  are  the  beautiful  lines  of  Thomas  Hood  called 
"  I  remember,  I  remember  : 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  fir  trees  dark  and  high  ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky  ; 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I'm  further  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 

Dr.  Watts  lays  down  to  youth  that  it  should  have 
a  decent  and  agreeable  behavior  among  men,  "  a  mod- 
est freedom  of  speech,  a  soft  and  elegant  manner  of 
address,  a  graceful  and  lovely  deportment,  a  cheerful 
gravity  and  good  humor,  with  a  mind  appearing  ever 
serene  under  the  ruffling  accidents  of  life."  This 
programme  of  action  is  far  beyond  the  reach  of  a 
well-balanced  adult,  much  further  the  inexperienced 
and  untried  mind  of  younger  life.  But  the  character 
which  should  attain  to  such  angelic  proportions^  would 
truly  have  a  reverent  place  among  men's  memories. 

THE    ALPENA. 

Youth  has  no  knowledge  of  God's  power.  The 
confidence  that  early  years  implant  in  the  mind  supplies 


70  YOUTH. 

an  unsubstantial  substitute.  I  have  pictured  to  myself 
an  illustration  :  A  bright  young  man  is  present  at  a 
grand  concert.  It  is  between  the  parts.  He  bends 
suavely  over  the  back  of  a  lady's  chair  and  talks 
sweet  music  to  her  ear.  He  says  :  "  Could  you  not 
follow  every  thought  of  the  composer  in  that  symph- 
ony ?  "  (which  they  have  just  heard).  "And  was  not 
the  effect  sublime  when  the  storm  reached  the  heights 
of  the  mountains,  and  all  the  elements  of  Nature 
struggled  so  stubbornly  ?  "  And  the  young  woman 
demurely  gives  him  an  assuring  look  which  con- 
serves all  her  interests  ;  whereupon  he  backs  off  in 
triumph,  and  feels  that  the  concert  is  worth  his  week's 
wages  after  all  ! 

AGAIN, 

this  young  man  at  <jrand  Haven,  on  the  western 
border  of  Lake  Michigan,  boards  the  structure  of 
pine  wood  and  ten-penny  nails  called  the  Alpena. 
The  Alpena  floats  out  into  her  last  night — into  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  Presently  the  young 
man  feels  his  vessel  and  his  life  trembling  like  a  cap- 
tive wild  bird  in  a  remorseless  grasp.  Anon  this 
trembling  grows  into  the  awful,  final,  fatal  paroxysms. 


YOUTH.  yi 

Then  suddenly  the  mind  of  the  young  man  breaks 
from  the  shackles  of  vanity  and  self-sufficiency,  and 
he  views,  for  the  first  time,  the  visible  forms  of 
angered  Nature.  He  recalls  his  white  gloves,  his 
former  complete  idea  of  a  storm,  his  triumphant,  au 
revoir  retreat  from  the  opera-box,  and,  as  the  discords 
of  the  Everlasting  gradually  resolve  toward  the 
diapason,  the  full  chantj  of  His  solemn  eternity,  the 
young  man  cries  out,  in  a  spirit  of  revelation,  "  What 
a  worm  am  I  !  "  and  adds  his  own  piteous  tragedy  to 
the  unheard  murmurs  of  bubbling  death  and  muddy 
burial ! 

"  REMEMBER    NOW    THY    CREATOR, 

in  the  days  of  thy  youth,''  says  Solomon.  '  "Train  up 
a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go, ''  says  the  proverb, 
"and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it."  Be 
not  afraid  of  the  sneers  of  the  ungodly.  "As  the  crack- 
ing of  thorns  under  a  pot,  so  is  the  laughter  of  a 
fool."  "  The  fairest  flower  in  the  garden  of  creation," 
says  Sir  James  E.  Smith,  "  is  a  young  mind,  offering 
and  unfolding  itself  to  the  influence  of  Divine  Wis- 
dom, as  the  heliotrope  turns  its  sweet  blossoms  to 
the  sun." 


72  YOUTH. 

Lord  Bacon,  in  his  forty-third  essay,  thus  sums  up 
the  qualities  of  youth  :  "  Young  men  are  fitter  to 
invent  than  to  judge ;  fitter  for  execution  than  for 
counsel ;  and  fitter  for  new  projects  than  for  settled 
business.  For  the  experience  of  age,  in  things  that 
fall  within  the  compass  of  it,  directeth  them  ;  but  in 
new  things  abuseth  them.  The  errors  of  young  men 
are  the  ruin  of  business  ; 

BUT  THE  ERRORS  OF  AGED  MEN 

amount  to  but  this,  that  more  might  have  been  done, 
or  sooner.  Young  men  in  the  conduct  and  manage 
of  actions,  embrace  more  than  they  can  hold;  stir 
more  than  they  can  quiet;  fly  to  the  end  without 
consideration  of  the  means  and  degrees,  pursue 
some  few  principles  which  they  have  chanced  upon 
absurdly;  care  not  to  innovate,  which  draws  unknown 
inconveniences ;  use  extreme  remedies  at  first ;  and, 
that  which  doubleth  all  errors,  will  not  acknowledge 
or  retract  them — like  an  unready  horse,  they  will 
neither  stop  nor  turn." 

THE    HARD-PAN    SERIES. 

Now  with  this  wise  parallel  of  youth  and  age  before 
me,  with  the  importance  which  I  attach  to  this  period 


YOUTH.  73 

of  life  as  the  precise  moment  at  which  the  final  cast 
of  the  clay  of  life  is  set,  and  with  the  belief  in  Goethe's 
statement  that  the  destiny  of  any  nation,  at  any  given 
time,  depends  on  the  opinions  of  its  young  men  under 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  I  beg  to  call  the  especial 
attention  of  the  young  to  a  Hard-Pan  Series  of  ten 
chapters  which  follow,  devoted  largely  to  just  this 
forming-period  of  life,  when  the  mould  is  ready  and  the 
governing  characteristics  are  fast  pouring  in.  I  beg 
parents  and  preceptors,  if  they  approve  my  efforts,  to 
lend  their  aid  in  attracting  toward  these  admonitions 
such  consideration  as  their  merit  shall  warrant,  and  I 
have  so  endeavored  to  dispose  the  bitterness  of 
practical  advice  as  to  both  somewhat  cover  its 
presence  and  gratify  a  youthful  and  adventurous 
literary  taste. 


Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar  but  by  no  means  vulgar; 
Do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new  hatched  unfledged  comrade 
Give  every  man  thine  ear  but  few  thy  voice; 
Take  each  man's  counsel  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

— SHAKSPEARE. 


OU    live.     To    live    is    costly. 
Who  will  pay  for  it?     Your  soul 
cries  out  "I."     But  how  will  you 
get  the  money  ?     "  Oh  !  I'll  get  it ! " — 
that  is  the   confident   cry   of  youth. 
The  confidence  oozes  out  as  life  length- 
ens— and  yet  there  are  certain  lines  of 
action  which,   if   followed,   in  this   bright 
land  of  liberty,  are  sure  to  result  in  the  ac- 
cumulation of  something  for  our  old  age. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  JUNIUS 

one  of  the  great  exemplars  in  the  matter  of  keeping  a 
secret  wrote  to  his  publisher:    "Let  all   your  views 

[741 


PRUDENCE  IN  SPEECH.  75 

in  life,  therefore,  be  directed  to  a  solid,  however  mod- 
erate independence.  Without  it  no  man  can  be  hap- 
py, nor  even  honest."  This  celebrated  sentence  was 
written  by  a  man  who  was  refusing  a  proffer 
of  money  for  his  writings  (then  in  print)  and  it 
should  not  be  read  as  inspiring  one  to  avarice. 
The  vice  of  avarice  is  more  honest  than  envy, 
but  is  not  the  less  unpleasant  and  reprehensible.  Let 
us  suppose  you  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  some 
grit  and  spunk  about  you.  At  the  earliest  point  prac- 
ticable you  get  something  to  do.  Perhaps  at  a  Fourth 
of  July  celebration  your  Sunday  schoof  teacher  trusts 
you  in  a  booth  to  deal  out  lemonade  and  handle  mon- 
ey. It  is  a  good  beginning.  Perhaps  you  are 

ESTABLISHED    BEHIND    A    COUNTER 

in  a  general  store  and  intrusted  with  the  great  secret 
of  a  cost-mark,  fully  as  important  a  secret, 
let  me  assure  you,  as  you  can  buy  in  the  most  secret 
of  places  !  What  spot  in  your  character  will  "  wear 
down  "  the  quickest  ?  When  you  were  little  it  was 
your  toes.  They  were  copper-plated.  Now  the 
wear  falls  where  copper  will  not  protect  you. 
Nothing  but  experience  will  now  serve  as  the  copper 


76  PRUDENCE  IN  SPEECH. 

did  then.     The  first  place  that  "  rubs  "  will  be 

YOUR    TONGUE. 

When  you  have  conquered  the  natural  inclination  to 
be  what  is  familiarly  known  as  a  "  smarty, "  there  is 
still  a  greater  wisdom  to  acquire.  Avoid  hearing, 
where  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  anything  that  you 
will  have  to  keep  secret.  The  less  secrets  you  have 
the  less  discretion  will  be  necessary  to  protect  them. 
After  you  have  heard  a  thing  from  your  employer,  keep 
it  to  yourself.  The  youth  who  talks  about  his  employ- 
er's business  must  have  other  marvelous  faculties  to 
succeed  in  life.  He  is  a  Blind  Tom.  He  plays  the 
piano,  but  the  wonder  is  how  he  does  it.  It  must  be 
that  it  would  hurt  your  feelings  if  you  heard  another 
merchant  say  of  your  employer  that  he  keeps  a  pretty 
good  boy,  except  that 

HE  "BLABS  A  GOOD  DEAL." 

If  you  can  shut  up  your  mouth  now,  you  can  keep 
it  shut  when  you  get  to  be  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
and  a  whole  syndicate  of  bankers  are  trying  to  pump 
out  of  you  whether  you  mean  to  pay  off  $100,000,000 
of  5  per  cent  bonds  the  next  week,  or  merely  reduce 
the  interest  i^  per  cent.  If  they  could  tell,  they 


PRUDENCE  IN  SPEECH.  77 

could  make  a  million  dollars,  and  unless  you  have 
been  all  your  life  a  discreet  man,  be  assured  they  'will 
tell.  If  your  employer's  rivals  in  business  find  out 
through  you  where  your  people  get  a  certain  line  of 
goods,  how  much  is  paid  for  it,  or 

THE  TIME  ON  WHICH  IT  IS  BOUGHT, 

be  assured  you  will  never  succeed  either  as  a  man  in 
business  for  yourself,  or  as  a  worker  under  the  direc. 
tion  of  others.  Your  employer  may  be  embarrassed 
and  the  fatal  knowledge  may  have  come  into  your 
unlucky  ears.  You  will  hear  it  whispered  all  around 
you.  Why  ?  Because  no  one  knows  "  for  sure." 
Everybody  wants  to  see  if  you  know  anything  about 
it.  Can  you  not  see  how  much  luckier  you  would 
have  been  had  you  really  known  nothing  of  the 
state  of  things?  A  word,  a  look,  from  you,  may  turn 
from  your  employer  just  the  helping  hand  that  would 
have  carried  him  across  a  tight  place.  How  many 
battles  have  been  won  by  the  arrival,  just  in  time,  of 
a  reinforcement  !  Make  it  a  point  that,  if  you  are 
inclined 

TO  "  BLOW  YOUR  AFFAIRS," 

you  were  not  cut  out  for  "  business."     You  had  better 


78  PRUDENCE  IN  SPEECH. 

become  a  lecturer,  a  farmer,  or  something  else,  and 
occupy  a  field  where  industry  alone  will  save  all  your 
interests.  Remember  the  miserable  barber  of  King 
Midas  in  mythology.  The  King  had  been  cursed  by 
the  offended  god  Apollo  with  asses'  ears.  To  hide 
his  deformity  he  had  his  barber  dress  the  hair  over  the 
ears,  and  the  barber  was~*then  sworn  with  an  awful 
oath  of  secrecy.  But  the  "  tonsorial  artist  "  (as  they 
call  him  in  the  city  !  )  was  one  of  those  people  who 
could  not  stand  the  pressure.  He  went  out  in  the  field 
and  dug  a  little  hole,  and 

INTO  THIS  HOLE  HE  BREATHED  THE  SECRET 

that  His  Majesty  had  been  smitten  by  Apollo.  What 
was  the  astonishment  of  the  world  ut  hearing  the 
reeds  that  grew  hard  by  whispering  among  them- 
selves, whenever  the  wind  blew  them  confidentially 
together,  "  King  Midas  hath  asses'  ears  !  " 

Be  in  mortal  fear  of  the  first  error  in  this  regard. 
When  a  boy  has  made  a  record  for  bad,  it  seems  to 
hang  to  him.  The  fact  that  he  has  told  something 
which  he  ought  to  have  kept  to  himself  is  quoted 
against  him  until  it  becomes  a  positive  habit  to  speak 
about  it  every  time  his  name  is  mentioned. 


PRUDENCE  IN  SPEECH.  79 

"Jimmie,  where's  your  outside  man  ?  I  heard  he 
was  in  town.  His  cousin  asked  me  to  inquire." 

"  Oh  !  no  !  he's  not  in  town.  He  went  out  on 
the  road  last  night.  He  will  be  in  Eagertown  to-mor- 
row, Brightside  Wednesday,  and  Upearly  Saturday." 

That  is  exactly  what  was  wanted  out  of  you,  and 
you  must  excuse  your  questioner  if  he  hurries  on,  so 
as  not  to  be  seen  pumping  you  any  longer  than  is 
necessary. 

Now  this  style  of  gaining  information  is  low  and 
contemptible,  but  of  two  boys  who  talked,  one  of 
whom  said  a  good  deal  that  did  not  amount  to  much, 
learning  a  good  deal  that  did,  and  the  other  letting  out 
a  great  deal  and  learning  nothing,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  of  the  business  success  of  the  first  as  compared 
to  that  of  the  second. 

Put  a  copper-toe  on  your  tongue.  Remember  that 
Gen.  Grant  made  a  great  part  of  his  fame  by  letting 
other  folks  do  his  talking. 


When  ray  friends  are  blind  of  one  eye,  I  look  at  them  in  profile. 

— JOUBERT. 


'HERE  is  no  outward  sign  of 
courtesy  that  does  not  rest  on  a 
deep  moral  foundation.  If  you 
are  always  courteous  without 
difficulty,  you  are  endowed  with 
a  nature  naturally  moral.  You  are 
naturally  a  gentleman.  Anyhow,  you 
are  behind  the  counter,  and  you  desire 
to  sell  goods.  You  wish  to  have 
customers  brighten  up  when  they  see 
you.  Very  well,  brighten  up  yourself. 
You  ought  to  be  glad  to  see  them.  If 
they  are  not  glad,  they,  perhaps,  have 
less  reason  for  joy.  They  are  about  to  part  with 
their  money  in  order  to  get  something  they  cannot 
part  with  so  easily.  You  went  to  work  in  the 
morning  hoping  a  good  many  people  would  come  in. 
Now  here  they  are.  You  can  smile  on  the  young 

lady,  but  can  you  smile  on  the  old ,  woman  ?     You 
[80] 


COURTESY.  8 1 

can  if  you  are  a  man.  It  is  nothing  but  good-breeding 
to  do  it.  What  is  this  boasted  word  "  good-breeding  ?" 
It  is  "the  result  of  much  good  sense,  some  good 
nature,  and  a  little  self-denial  for  the  sake  of 
others,  and  with  a  view  to  obtain  the  same  indulgence 
from  them."  Chesterfield,  a  man  who  was  as 
prominent  in  England  as  Daniel  Webster  in  America, 
expressed  his  astonishment  that  anybody  who  had 
good  sense  and  good  nature  could  essentially  fail  in 
good-breeding. 

STUDY    YOUR   CUSTOMER. 

If  he  or  she  be  brusque,  be  yourself  pliable,  respectful, 
and  by  all  means  quick.  Do  not  stand  in  front  of 
him  or  her  with  your  head  down  ready  to  hook  or  to 
butt.  You  are  glad  the  customer  has  come  in.  That 
should  solve  the  wht>le  problem.  In  the  city  you  are  re- 
quired to  "  put  up  with  "  the  bad  mannered  fashion  that 
people  have  of  treating  a  clerk  as  if  he  were  a  piece 
of  furniture,  but  in  the  town  this  is  all  changed.  A 
majority  of  the  citizens  knew  you,  and  all  regard  you 
with  better  breeding  than  would  the  city  customer. 
You  are  young  and  positive,  because  you  know  very 

little  about  life.     Curb  yourself,     Let  the  customer 

* 


g2  COURTESY. 

make  all  the  statements  he  has  to  make.  He  will 
run  out  of  them  presently.  In  case  he  want  any  of 
yours,  he  will  then  ask  for  them,  and  literally  be  at 
your  mercy.  As  to 

YOUR    HANDS, 

have  them  very  clean.  It  will  be  a  positive  advantage 
to  you  to  wear  no  rings.  In  case  the  people  like 
jewelry,  it  distracts  their  attention  from  the  great  idea 
(a  sale);  in  case  they  do  not  like  gew-gaws,  it  will 
put  you  in  opposition.  Make  your  great  effort  in  the 
direction  you  think  the  customer's  mind  is  taking. 
Sell  him  what  he  thinks  he  wants  first.  So  much, 
sure.  Then,  if  he  changes  his  mind,  it  will  be  to  your 
profit,  generally.  When  the  customer  speaks  to  you. 
it  gives  you  your  programme.  If  he  be  cheery,  imitate 
him.  He  is  your  friend  and  is  giving  you  an  example, 
If  he  look  hard  at  you, 

LOOK    RESPECTFULLY 

at  him.  Serve  him  with  alacrity,  say  nothing'  not 
necessary,  and  the  joy  in  your  heart  will  thaw  him 
out  before  long.  Express  to  your  customers  your 
desire  that  they  should  come  again, — never  by  words, 
because  that  is  too  difficult,  except  in  a  barber-shop, 


COURTESY.  83 

where  it  is  a  custom — but  by  opening  the  door  for 
them  at  their  departure,  even  if  you  have  to  keep 
another  customer  waiting,  and  by  thanking  them  on 
receipt  of  the  money,  or  upon  delivery  of  the  goods 
if  it  be  on  account.  There  are  very  few  people  who 
will  remain  cold  toward  you  after  they  find  out  you 
are  really  glad  to  see  them.  The  general  store  of 
the  rural  town  makes 

THE  FINEST-MANNERED  MEN  IN  THE  COUNTRY, 

respectful,  dignified,  alert,  and  unruffled.  I  saw  a 
clerk  at  the  postal-money-order  office  in  St  Paul. 
The  Swedes  and  Poles  go  there  often  to  send  away 
money.  That  young  man  had  such  a  charming  way 
of  showing  an  old  Swedish  woman  just  how  to 
make  out  an  order  before  she  had  learned  to  write, 
and  he  had  such  an  awe-stricken  way  of  receiving  the 
instructions  of  other  money-senders  who  knew  all 
about  it,  that  I  felt  he  was  a  credit  to  America,  and 
I  mention  the  reminiscence  only  with  diminished 
pleasure  from  the  fact  that  I  have  forgotten  the  young 
man's  name.  Courteous  treatment  of  a  customer  is 
necessary  under  every  conceivable  circumstance.  It 
may  be  a  busybody  has  come  in  to  worry  you, 


84  COURTESY. 

who  never  bought  a  cent's  worth  of  you  or  anybody 
else  whom  you  know  ;  nevertheless  her  tongue  is  an 
advertisement.  If  you  can  gain  her  good  will,  even 
comparatively,  as  weighed  by  her  estimate  of  other 
clerks,  it  is  better  than  a  column  advertisement  in  the 
local  papers.  When  Zachariah  Fox,  a  great 
merchant  of  Liverpool,  was  asked  by  what  means  he 
contrived  to  amass  so  large  a  fortune  as  he  possessed, 
his  reply  was  :  "  Friend,  by  one  article  alone,  and  in 
which  thou  mayest  deal  too,  if  thou  pleasest, —  it  is 
civility. "  "  Hail  !  ye  small  sweet  courtesies  of  life, 
for  smooth  do  ye  make  the  road  of  it,  like  grace  and 
beauty,  which  beget  inclinations  to  love  at  first  sight ; 
it  is  ye  who  open  the  door  and  let  the  stranger  in.  " 
"  We  must  be  as  courteous,"  says 

RALPH    WALJDO    EMERSON, 

"to  a  man  as  we  are  to  a  picture,  which  we  are 
willing  to  give  the  advantage  of  a  good  light."  There 
is  more  natural  courtesy  in  the  country  than  in  the 
city,  just  as  there  are  more  privileges  where  three 
clerks  are  at  work  than  where  these  are  a  hundred, 
And  then,  again,  civility  seems  to  be  lacking  in  the 
city  as  well  naturally  as  out  of  necessity.  Milton  has 


COURTESY.  85 

put  this  forcibly  by  saying  "  courtesy  oft  is  sooner 
found  in  lowly  sheds,  with  smoky  rafters,  than  in 
tapestry  halls  and  courts  of  princes,  where  it  first 
was  named."  The  small  courtesies  sweeten  life. 
The  great  ones  ennoble  it.  The  extent  to  which  a 
man  can  make  himself  agreeable,  as  seen  in  the  lives 
of  Swift,  Thomas  Moore,  Chesterfield,  Coleridge, 
Sydney  Smith,  Aaron  Burr,  Edgar  Poe,  and  those 
odd  creatures  called 

"BEAUX,"  SUCH  AS  BRUMMEL,  NASH,  ETC., 
goes  to  show  the  immense  importance  of  the  art,  and 
its  influence  in  determining  the  success  of  any 
man  in  business.  Good-breeding  shows  itself  the 
most  where  to  an  ordinary  eye  it  appears  the  least. 
Says  Chesterfield  :  "  How  often  have  I  seen  the  most 
solid  merit  and  knowledge  neglected,  unwelcome,  and 
even  rejected;  while  flimsy  parts,  little  knowledge,  and 
less  merit,  introduced  by  the  Graces,  have  been 
received,  cherished,  and  admired."  You  have  seen 
beautiful  swords  of  auroral  flame  dart  into  the  zenith ; 
you  have  seen  marvelous  flights  of  meteors,  which 
were  gone  ere  your  admiration  had  given  rise  to  a 
cry  of  pleasure.  So  it  is  with  manners.  They 


86  COURTESY. 

irradiate  our  presence,  giving  to  GUI'  associates 

MOMENTARY  VIEWS 

of  those  qualities  which  are  universally  loved  and  re- 
spected— gentleness,  unselfishness,  gladness  and  peace. 
Your  clothes,  while  under  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
should  be  very  neat.  Your  shirt  should  be  clean. 
This  does  not  imply  that  you  are  to  break  extra  backs 
to  keep  fresh  shirts  ready  for  you,  but  that  you  are  to 
make  extra  efforts  to  keep  the  one  you  have  on  un- 
soiled  for  a  decent  length  of  time.  If  your  clothes  are 
dark,  get  in  the  habit  of  wearing  a  black  silk  or  satin 
neck-tie  and  wear  it  some  one  way  all  your  life.  It 
helps  people  to  "  place  "  you.  Generally  a  sack  coat 
makes  a  very  tall  man  look  shorter,  and  a  frock-coat 
looks  all  the  better  for  a  change.  The  clothes  should 
be  loose,  so  that  they  will 

OCCUPY  AS  LITTLE  OF  THE  MIND  AS  POSSIBLE. 

The  young  man  who  purposely  keeps  his  mind  on  his 
fine  clothes  is  lost.  He  is  a  coxcomb.  He  has  no 
greater  influence  with  the  young  ladies  for  all  his  fine 
feathers.  Let  me  leave  you  selling  a  large  bill, 
remembering  that  civility  costs  nothing  and  buys 


COURTESY. 


87 


everything,  and  feeling  that  the  very  perfection  of 
good  manners  is  not  to  think  of  yourself. 


Behold  there  ariseth  a  little  cloud  out  of  the  sea,  like  a  man's  hand. 

—I  KINGS,  XVIII,  44. 


RANKLIN  says  that,  if  you 
know  how  to  spend  less  than  you 
get,  you  have  the  philosopher's 
stone.  Cicero,  many  hundreds  of 
rears  before  Ben  Franklin  said  : 
"Economy  is  of  itself  a  great 
revenue,"  and  another  Roman  writer 
put  it  still  better  when  he  said : 
"  There  is  no  gain  so  certain  as  that 
which  arises  from  sparing  what  you  have." 
"  Beware  of  small  expenses,"  again  writes 
Franklin  ;  "  a  small  leak  will  sink  a  great  ship." 
In  our  large  cities  there  are  thousands  of  servant  girls 
earning  from  two  and  a  half  to  three  dollars  a  week. 
The  men  who  employ  them  often  get  from  twenty-five 
to  one  hundred  dollars  per  week,  yet  it  is  a  notorious 
fact  that  the  prudent  servant  girl  usually  has  more 
money  at  her  command,  clear  of  all  debts,  than  her 

[88] 


ECONOMY.  189 

employer)  whose  expenses  scrape  very  closely  against 
his  income.  Now  you  are  on  a  salary  in  a  store. 
Perhaps  that  salary  is  yours,  to  spend  as  you  see  fit. 
If  so,  remember  that,  like  the  highest  officer  in  the 
land,  you  have  certain  duties.  If  you  were  President 
you  could  not  appoint  your  old  schoolmate  Secretary 
of  State  unless  he  had  made  as  much  progress  in 
politics  as  yourself.  So,  too, 

IN    YOUR  MONEY    MATTERS, 

you  cannot  make  yourself  so  valuable  to  your 
employer  that  he  will  not,  before  he  advances  you, 
inquire  into  your  personal  expenses,  and  find  out  what 
you  do  with  your  money.  If  you  have  spent  it,  year 
after  year,  as  fast  as  you  could  get  it,  he  will  have 
great  misgivings  about  letting  you  into  a  position 
where  your  desire  to  distribute  currency  can  possibly 
lead  you  to  practice  on  his  funds.  Among  the  easy 
ways  to  spend  money  in  a  small  town  is  the  habit  of 
hiring  livery-rigs.  The  business  is  just  as  useful  as  a 
drug-store,  but  no  poor  boy  should  hire  equipages  for 
mere  pleasure.  To  attend  a  funeral,  or  to  take  a  sick 
mother  or  sister  out  in  the  sunshine,  is  commendable. 
The  youth  who  does  that  rarely  needs  the  other  sugges- 


9°  ECONOMY. 

tion,  however,  for  those  who  spend  the  most  money  at  a 
livery  stable  are  usually  seen  with  their  mothers  and 
sisters  the  least.  No  young  man  who  thinks  well  of 
himself  will  enter  a  saloon  at  all.  Often  the  worst 
classes  in  the  whole  country  frequent 

RURAL    SALOONS, 

men  who  dare  not  walk  through  the  streets  of  any  of 
the  large  cities.  Perhaps  at  the  card-table  in  the 
groggery  across  the  street  is  a  man  who  has  come  to 
your  town  to  break  into  your  employer's  store ! 
Anyway,  there  is  no  "  business  "  in  the  world  which 
returns  so  little  for  the  money  accepted  as  the  saloon. 
Take 

A    GALLON    OF    WHISKY, 

for  instance.  It  is  worth  a  dollar  to  a  dollar  and  a 
half.  It  has  been  taxed  ninety  cents  by  the 
Government,  leaving  it  worth  that  much  less.  Well, 
now,  a  man  is  expected  to  go  into  a  saloon,  and,  for 
about  three  tablespoonsful  of  this  stuff,  he  pays  ten 
cents  in  the  town  and  fifteen  cents  in  the  city.  Your 
news  dealer  pays  eight  cents  for  an  illustrated  paper, 
and  twenty-eight  cents  for  a  popular  magazine.  He 


ECONOMY.  91 

sells  the  one  for  ten  cents  and  the  other  for  thirty-five 
cents,  taking  all  the  risk  of  not  getting  a  sale.  If 
you  could  afford  to  travel  with  such  people  as  are 
found  in  saloons,  in  the  first  place,  and  to  put  such 
truly  abominable  stuff  in  your  mouth  in  the  second 
place,  you  could  not,  even  then,  in  the  third  place, 
afford  to  give  fifteen  cents  for  what  is  in  fact  worth 
less  than  a  mill.  You  are  in  reality  giving  away  your 
money  to  the  Government  and  the  saloon  keeper. 

LET  VANDERBILT  SUPPORT   THE  GOVERNMENT, 

and  those  who  have  made  their  fortunes  and  their 
bad  habits  the  saloon-keeper.  I  have  dwelt  on  this, 
because  these  are  few  young  men  who  are  not  tempt- 
ed. All  the  above  applies  to  tobacco.  It  is  an  utter- 
ly obnoxious  habit  to  use  tobacco.  It  is  the  cause, 
together  with  the  dough  falsely  called  pastry,  of  all 
the  dyspepsia  in  our  climate.  It  ruins  the  eyes,  it 
costs  money  in  vast  quantities,  returning  almost  noth- 
ing in  goods,  and  has  but  one  redeeming  feature  that 
I  know  of — it  is 

JUST  AS  BAD  ON  MOTHS  AS  IT  IS  ON  MEN, 

and  it  makes  a  musty  room  smell  a  little  better.  If 
you  can  keep  out  of  saloons  and  shooting  galleries, 


tyi  ECONOMY; 

'you  will  not  play  billiards  or  cards — both  very  e*> 
pensive — you  will  not  use  tobacco,  and  you  will  be 
less  apt  to  go  to  dances  and  hire  livery  teams. 
Should  you  preserve  yourself  against  these  vices  of 
our  young  men,  you  will  have  money  without  deny- 
ing yourself  clothes  as  handsome  as  a  poor  young 
man  looks  well  in.  Three  short  years'  savings  will 
put  you  in  possession  of  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to 
set  you  to  thinking  about  business  for  yourself, 
either  with  your  employer  or  alone,  for 

LIFE  IN  AMERICA  IS  SHORT. 

A  man  is  a  failure  almost  before  he  thinks  he  ought 
to  have  been  considered  as  started.  If  you  have 
been  receiving  small  remuneration,  be  assured  that  a 
capital  all  the  smaller  is  needed  in  your  town.  The 
market  value  of  labor  is  the  largest  element  in  the 
problem  of  business.  If  you  worked  cheap,  then 
others  will,  and  if  they  will,  it  is  because  living  is 
cheap.  The  high-priced  man  in  the  city  has  to  be 
paid  highly  because  of  his  expenses,  not  because  he 
has  taken  a  vow  to  save  a  large  amount  of  money. 
"  He  who  is  taught  to  live  upon  little  owes  more  to 
his  father's  wisdom  than  he  that  has  a  great  deal  left 


ECONOMY.  93 

to  him  does  to  his  father's  care,"  says  William  Penn. 
"  He  is  a  good  wagoner  who  can  turn  in 
a  little  room,"  says  Bishop  Hall.  How  many  a 
man,  in  getting  a  costly  home,  has  found 
that  old  Franklin  was  right  when  he  said  it  was  easier 
to  build  two  chimneys  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel. 
Therefore,  when  you  get  anything, 

BEWARE  IT  ENTAILS  LITTLE  EXPENSE   OF    KEEPING. 

A  horse  will  eat  you  poor  ;  a  gun  will  cost  you  a 
hundred  guns.  Think  of  it  when  you  buy  them, 
and  yon  will  thereafter  have  no  regrets,  besides  being 
less  apt  to  make  such  purchases.  "  Gain  may  be 
temporary  and  uncertain,"  says  Franklin,  "  but 
expense  is  constant  and  certain."  "  Not  to  be  covet- 
ous is  money  ;  not  to  be  a  purchaser  is  income," 
says  Cicero.  "A  fool  and  his  money  are  soon  part- 
ed, "  says  the  adage.  "  Live  by  hope,  and  you  will 
die  by  despair,"  says  tjie  Italian  proverb.  Save  all 
you  can  honorably.  J-f^rness  it  up  and  make  it  pull 
also  by  bringing  in  to  you  a  little  interest.  Here 
will  be  your  first  real  business  move — one  of  grave 
importance.  The  little  cloud  that  ^riseth  put  of  the 


94 


ECONOMY. 


sea,  like  a  man's  hand,  will  soon  cover  your  financial 
sky,  and  bring  an  abundant  shower  of  the  good 
things  of  this  life. 


I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man  ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. — SHAKSPEARE, 


OURAGE  is  adversity's  lamp. 
Perhaps  the  young  man's  courage 
is  more  sorely  tried  than  that  of  the 
man  of  middle  age,  for  age  dreads 
the  whip  of  events,  while  youth 
champs  their  bit.  Youth  cannot  endure 
the  thought  of  a  long  siege.  The  ladders 
must  be  put  against  the  walls,  the  breach 
must  be  clambered  through,  and  if  the  citadel 
be  strong,  the  rash  onset  will  be  repulsed 
with  heavy  loss.  But  Hope  dotes  on 
youth.  The  young  are  her  flock,  her  fold, 
her  children.  Into  the  hands  of  her  children  she  puts 
the  scimetar  of  courage,  and  bids  them  go  forth 
again.  Let  us  suppose  you  have  been  cast  down 
your  ladder,  and  have  little  but  your  courage.  It 
may  be  necessary  to  leave  your  pleasant  little  town 
and  seek  employment  where  men  are  used  as  machines 
— in  the  great  cities.  Such  a  fate  is,  indeed,  a  sad 

[951 


06  COURAGE. 

reverse.  The  safety  of  home,  the  magazines  of  mor- 
al ammunition  stored  all  about  you,  the  bomb-proofs 
against  the  shells  of  soul-destruction  aimed  at  every 
soldier  in  life,  will  all  be  torn  from  you,  and  you  will 
be  as  a  Knight  of  the  Cross,  alone  on  the  desert. 
Perhaps 

YOU  HAVE  REACHED  THE  GREAT  CITY. 

Now  buckle  on  your  armor.  You  do  not  need  an 
intrepid  courage,  now  ;  intrepid  courage  may  have 
brought  you  here  ;  intrepid  courage  is  but  a  holiday 
kind  of  a  virtue,  to  be  seldom  exercised,  as  experience 
will  teach  you.  You  need  firmness  to  resist  all  kinds 
of  attacks.  You  need  good-nature,  and  yet  you  must 
repel  temptation  with  a  look  as  black  as  Erebus. 
You  need  affability,  yet  you  must  speak  almost  by 
rote,  and  the  opportunities  to  keep  from  speaking 
outnumber  the  exigencies  in  which  you  must  speak 
by  ten  to  one.  You  must  be  tender,  and  yet  you 
must  be  cruel  as  a  surgeon.  Without  these  opposites 
well  balanced  in  your  character,  you  will  not  fight 
the  battle  successfully. 

NAPOLEON 

won  his  battles  by  hurling  ten  thousand  rrjen  upon 


COURAGE. 


97 


two  thousand.  Simple,  was  it  not?  Now  you  are 
one  young  soldier.  You  will  have  to  find  a  place  in 
the  enemy's  lines  which  is  even  weaker  than  you 
before  you  can  throw  yourself  against  it  with  success. 
You,  therefore,  cannot  be  too  circumspect.  If  the 
General  pushes  two  thousand  men  against  one  thous- 
and, on  ground  that  is  otherwise  even,  he  is  a 
wise  leader,  but  if  he  finds  four  thousand  enemies 
there,  and  if  his  principal  attack  is  hazarded  in  the 
action,  he  is  always  accounted  a  daring  fool.  Let 
me  recall 

THE  ATTACK  OF  A  YOUNG  MAN 

who  broke  through  the  enemy's  lines,  in  the  City  of 
Chicago.  He  got  eight  dollars  a  week  in  a  city  on 
the  Mississippi  River,  and  was  led  to  believe  that,  if 
he  went  to  Chicago,  he  could  get  ten  dollars.  He 
was  employed  as  a  clerk  in  a  Commercial  Agency, 
a  business  which  aims  to  ascertain  the  standing 
and  degree  of  success  or  lack  of  fortune  of  the  retail 
dealers  ot  the  region  it  covers.  He  felt  that  eight 
dollars  a  week  were  all  that  he  could  ever  get  where 
he  was.  Upon  his  arrival  in  the  City  of  Chicago  he 
was  put  at  work  for  seven  dollars,  the  representations 

7 


98  COURAGE. 

made  to  him  having  proven  unreliable.  There  were 
about  fifty  young  men  and  women  in  the  same  room. 
Seated  at  his  desk  when  eight  o'clock  came,  he 
found  that  his  chances  to  rise  were  seemingly  re- 
stricted to  the  hours  of  noon  and  six  o'clock.  In  this 
way  he  worked  for  six  months.  He  was  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  board  at  five  dollars  a  week,  leaving 
him,  after  his  washing,  perhaps  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
clear.  To  a  man  of  twenty-five  years  who  could 
see  the  real  difficulties  of  his  future,  the  need  of  a 
high  quality  of  moral  courage  was  urgent.  And  he 
had  it.  He  got  acquainted  with  a  humble  friend, 
considerably  better  off,  who  therefore,  could  talk 
to  him  very  bravely  of  the  dignity  of  labor,  and  the 
honor  of  paying  one's  way,  even  if  it  took  only  five 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  to  do  it.  This  young 
friend  did  thus  encourage  and  inspire  the  young 
clerk,  and  he  was  able  to  set  about  improving  his 
mind. 

HE  READ  THE  BIBLE  THROUGH 

g 

during  this  six  months,  and  thus  acquired  a  style  of 
simple  expression  which  would  be  of  value  to  him  in 
liis  reports  when  he  should  travel.  He  read  Plutarch's 


COURAGE.  99 

Laves.  He  studied  French,  and  read  "  The  Man  Who 
Laughs"  and  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  two  remarkably 
different  works.  You  see  he  was  a  man  of  persistence. 
But  such  a  mind  finds  the  humiliation  of  a  dollar  and 
a  quarter  a  week  all  the  more  bitter.  A 
man  conversing  with  Plutarch  about  the  relative 
merits  of  Pompey  and  Lucullus,  or  of  Marius  and 
Sylla,  dislikes  to  be 

DOCKED    THREE    HOURS 

for  being  ten  minutes  late,  and  dislikes  to  return  to 
his  landlady  at  the  end  of  the  week  and  give  her  five- 
sevenths  of  the  whole  spoil  of  Bythnia  and  the 
Propontis !  One  day  the  second  assistant  manager 
spoke  to  him,  and  this  ray  of  hope  lit  his  way  to  a 
seat  on  a  high  stool  to  write  out  "  tickets "  for 
merchants  who  send  in  to  see  about  Blow  &  Co.,  of 
Bugleville.  This  gave  him  eight  dollars  a  week,  and 
enabled  him  to  go  to  a  theatre  once  in  a  while  and 
hear  , 

SHAKSPEARE'S  PLAYS. 

One  night  he  approached  his  friend  and  announced 
that  the  die  was  cast,  and  that  he  should  become  an 
actor.  Nothing  could  be  worse  than  he  was  doing. 


100  COURAGE. 

Absolutely  no  business  paid  less  than  eight  dollars  per 
week,  unless  it  were  his  own  itself  which  had  paid 
him  seven  dollars.  It  was  a  summer  month.  A 
theatre  was  empty.  A  dramatic  agent  had  agreed 
to  get  up  a  company  and  run  the  place  a  week.  It 
would  require  only  twenty-five  dollars  from  the  young 
man.  He  would  then  be  a  sharer  in  the  profits, 
would  be  given  a  minor  part  in  the  cast  of  characters, 
and  would  thereafter  be  secured 

AN  ENGAGEMENT  WITH  JOHN  M'CULLOUGH 

or  John  Raymond  at  about  fifteen  dollars  a  week. 
The  dramatic  agent  was  to  have  ten  dollars  from  the 
first  week's  salary  of  the  regular  engagement.  As 
he  was  working  at  absolutely  bottom  figures  (board 
usually  costing  at  least  six  dollars  a  week)  and  as  he 
was  skillful  at  his  business,  and  could  command 
work  at  all  times  if  he  were  willing  to  work  for  his 
board,  the  young  man  thought  he  was  not  very  rash 
in  making  an  attempt,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  the  friend 
of  the  young  man  like  the  memorable  jump  of  the  fish 
out  of  the  frying-pan.  The  difficulty  of  going  back 
to  work  after  a  failure  was  entirely  overlooked.  The 
young  man  paid  his  twenty-five  dollars,  absolutely 


COURAGE.  10 1 

the  frugal  hoard  of  six  months  of  toil,  got  a  leave  of 
absence  for  three  weeks,  and  studied  all  one  week, 
meanwhile  eating  five  dollars'  worth  of  very  poor 
board. 

HE  "ACTED"  THROUGH  THE  WEEK 

up  to  Thursday,  when  the  company  failed  to  pay  in 
advance  for  the  gas,  and  it  was  shut  off.  He  spent 
the  next  two  or  three  days  preparing  himself  for  a 
part  in  "  The  Gilded  Age."  On  the  second  night  the 
"heavy  man,"  Raymond,  became  enraged  at  the 
manner  in  which  this  part  was  borne,  and  demanded 
that  the  character  be  given  into  the  hands  of  another 
person.  This  was  the  finishing  stroke.  The  young 
man  stayed  at  "  home  "  for  three  days,  and  on  Friday 
night  went  to  see  his  more  fortunate  associate.  To 
his  friend,  who  perhaps  saw  things  in  a  prejudiced 
light,  it  seemed  like  a  conspiracy  to  make  good  the 
dramatic  agent's  word  of  promise — to  keep  it  to  the 
ear  and  break-it  to  the  hope. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  MONEY  WAS  GONE, 

he  was  in  debt  for  three  weeks'  board,  and  he  had 
been  ruthlessly  and  ignominiously  branded  with  failure. 
He  reverted  to  Brutus  at  Philippi,  to  Cato,  and  he 


102  COURAGE. 

was  nearly  on  the  verge  of  suicide.  It  may  be  that 
the  cheering  words  of  his  friend  brought  out  his  true 
but  latent  courage.  What  were  a  troop  of  vulgar  and 
ill-mannered  players  to  him  ?  What  was  a  dramatic 
agent  but  a  harpy  ?  He  was  worth  a  whole  theatre 
full  of  actors  such  as  had  worked  almost  his  ruin. 
Go  back  and  put  his  nose  down  to  the  grindstone,  his 
desk,  where,  at  least  they  paid  men  enough  to  live  on, 
and  did  not  make  it  necessary  to  cheat  a  poor  landlady ! 

JEREMY    COLLIER 

has  said  that  "  true  courage  is  the  result  of  reasoning. 
Resolution  lies  more  in  the  head  than  in  the  veins, 
and  a  just  sense  of  honor  and  of  infamy,  of  duty  and 
religion,  will  carry  us  farther  than  all  the  force  of 
mechanism."  The  young  man  had  the  courage  to 
go  back.  His  friend  was  gratified.  As  the  months 
passed  the  bitterness  departed.  Christmas  Day  the 
young  man  was  sent  to  the  Stock  Yards  to  do  a 
week's  reporting.  That  Christmas-week  was  one  of 
the  coldest  ever  seen  in  this  climate.  The  young 
man's  unweathered  ears  and  nose  were  badly  frost- 
bitten. But  notwithstanding  this  great  obstacle  of  a 
cold  snap  he  made  a  success  of  his  expedition.  His 


COUkAGE.  103 

imports  demonstrated  that  the  Bible  and  Plutarch  had 
not  been  sown  on  stony  places,  and  that  good  English 
could  be  used  in  reporting  the  standing  and  prospects 
of  a  retail  firm  as  well  as  in  a  memorial  to  Congress. 
When  he  got  back 

THE    MANAGER    OF    THE    HOUSE    HIMSELF 

spoke  to  him,  and  the  second  assistant  assured  him 
that  one  of  the  "  outside  men "  would  soon  be  put 
aside  to  give  him  a  chance  on  the  road.  When  a 
young  man  goes  on  the  road  his  board  is  paid,  so 
that  it  is  that  much  of  an  advance  of  salary.  Six 
long  months,  however,  ran  along  at  eight  dollars  a 
week,  and  the  unsatisfactory  man  on  the  road  proved 
more  influential  than  the  second  assistant.  When 
our  young  man  saw  this,  he  went  to  the  manager, 
demanded  nine  dollars  a  week,  and  got  it  after  a  loud 
protest  from  that  broad-hearted  functionary.  The 
next  week  — this  was  in  the  summer — he  went  on  the 
road  in  place  of  a  sick  man,  traveled  through  nearly 
all  the  towns  in  Illinois  and  Iowa,  and  made  a  fine 
record,  both  as  to  the  character  of  his  work,  his  speed, 
and  his  expenses.  Upon  his  return  a  rival  firm,  hearing 
of  his  work,  made  him  a  proposition  at  a  thousand 


104  COURAGE. 

dollars  a  year  ana  expenses,  with  two  months'  holiday 
each  year,  and  he  signed  a  contract.  His  first  year's 
tramp  took  him  through  nearly  all  the  towns  of 
Illinois,  Iowa,  Missouri,  Kansas,  Nebraska,  and 
Colorado.  He  returned  in  August,  with  nine  hundred 
dollars  in  cash  credited  to  his  account  in  the  bank  and 
demanded  and  received  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and 
expenses  for  going  over  the  same  route  the  next 
year,  and  to-day  he  stands  with  his  head  as  high  among 
his  fellows  as  any  young  man  in  America.  Now  a 
retrospect  of  the  young  man's  short  career  shows  that 

HE    HAD    GENUINE   COURAGE. 

He  never  failed  when  he  had  any  chance  to  succeed. 
He  never  will.  For  such  a  man  the  world  is  not  a 
world  of  chance.  It  is  almost  a  certainty.  The 
opportunities  are  more  frequent  than  the  men  with 
courage. 

DURING    THE    HARDEST    WINTER 

since  1842  the  young  man  passed  through  experiences 
on  the  road,  brought  about  by  deep  snows  and 
blundering  Postmasters  that  would  sicken  anybody's 
heart,  experiences  that  without  excellent  brain-work 
would  simply  have  stalled  anybody,  but  his  coolness, 


COURAGE.  105 

his  use  of  the  telegraph  with  unerring  judgment  in 
following  the  movements. of  his  superior  (who  was 
traveling  in  like  difficulties — it  was  like  Kepler 
making  a  path  for  Mars  while  himself  riding  on  the 
earth, — extricated  him,  and  made  his  journeys  little 
more  costly,  all  told,  than  those  of  the  preceding  year. 
In  the  city  all  depends  on  courage.  This  young  man 
espied  a  few  weak  places  in  the  enemy's  lines.  He 
attacked  with  vigor.  In  the  charge  on  the  theatre 
he  met  the  enemy  in  force  and  was  thrown  back  with 
heavy  loss,  but  in  all  the  other  onsets  the  enemy  had 
no  force  to  withstand  him.  One  quality  which  the 
young  man  had  in  a  large  measure  was  the  fear  of 
failure.  "  The  brave  man  is  not  he  who  feels  no  fear, 
for  that  were  stupid  and  irrational ;  but  he  whose 
noble  soul  its  fear  subdues,  and  bravely  dares  the  danger 
Nature  shrinks  from."  There  is  a  quality  much  akin 
to  moral  courage,  which,  however,  is  not  present  very 
noticeably  in  the  strongest  natures,  but  which  is 

THE   ANCHOR   TO    MANY    LIVES. 

I  will  present  it  in  the  following  pages.  But  let  me 
assure  you  that  if  you  have  the  truest  courage — the 
kind  that  this  young  man  had — you  will  not  need  the 


io6 


COURAGE. 


quality  which  I  will  next  take  up.  Hope  rides  in 
a  palace-car,  along  the  .railroad,  and  ever  the 
tremendous  bridges  which  Courage  has  constructed. 


Hope,  like  the  gleaming  taper's  light, 
Adorns  and  cheers  the  way  : 

And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 
Emits  a  brighter  ray.— GOLDSMITH. 


,OPE  is  the  best  part  of  our 
riches.  For  it  alone  reaches 
further  than  any  other — off  in- 
to the  world  which  is  to  come. 
But  I  am  speaking  to  you  of 
the  practical  advantages  of  hope. 
Bacon  says  :  "  Hope  is  leaf -joy, 
which  may  be  beaten  out  to  a  great  exten- 
sion, like  gold.11  It  has  been  most  beauti- 
fully said  by  Hillard  that  the  shadow  of 
human  life  is  traced  upon  a  golden 
ground  of  immortal  hope.  Shakspeare 
says  the  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
"  Hope  is  a  prodigal  young  heir,  and  Experience  is  his 
banker,  but  his  drafts  are  seldom  honored,  since  there  is 
often  a  heavy  balance  against  him.1'  Now  to  make 

his  account  good  in  the  First  National  Bank  of  Expe- 

[107] 


108  HOPE. 

.• 

rience,  what  should  Hope  do?  He  plainly  should  be. 
gin  the  deposit  of  probabilities  to  draw  against.  Wal- 
ter Scott  says  :  "  Hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from 
fears,"  and  I  should  think  his  drafts  would  be  honored 
just  so  far  as  they  were  drawn  with  circumspection. 
"  Folly  ends  "  writes  Cowper  "  where  genuine  hope  be- 
gins." But  where  there  is  no  hope  there  can  be  no 
endeavor,  so  whether  it  exist  in  superabundance  or  not 
let  us  cultivate  it  as  one  of  the  loveliest  of  the  flowers 
of  life,  as  absolutely  the  sweetest  perfume  that  ever 
burns  in  the  Golden  Censer.  Let  me  tell  you  how 

HOPE  ALONE  SAVED  THE  LIFE 

of  one  of  the  finest  young  men  in  the  land.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  wealthy  wine  merchant  who  had  failed  in 
business  near  Bath-Easton,  England.  Like  many  oth. 
er  lads,  he  felt  the  sting  of  circumstances  which  prom, 
ised  to  alter,  and  without  good  advice  got  ready  to 
come  to  America  He  was  well  trained  in  the  wine 
trade,  and  supposed  that  employment  would  at  once 
open  to  him.  He  brought  over  two  guns,  two  revol- 
vers, a  field  glass,  a  sword,  much  valuable  jewelry, 
about  twelve  suits  of  clothes  and  not  a  very  large 
amount  of  money — possibly  three  hundred  dollars. 


HOPE. 

After  seeing  Boston  and  New  York,  he  "  left  for  the 
plains,"  and 

ARRIVED  IN  CHICAGO  ON  CHRISTMAS, 

the  year  before  the  great  conflagration.  Here  he  was 
met  by  other  English  friends,  and  the  New  Year's  calls 
customary  in  the  city  were  made  "  in  fine  style,"  for 
he  was  an  engaging  young  man.  In  just  a  casual 
way  he  inquired  for  work,  but  found  his  trade  did  not 
exist  in  the  New  World.  He  was  thus  in  the  worst 
business  position  conceivable.  He  had  had  no  drill 
in  anything  that  would  do  him  any  good.  Upon 
spending  the  last  of  his  money  one  night — I  think  it 
was  for  a  game  of  billiards — he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  would  go  out  after  work  the  next  day.  This 
he  did.  He  tramped  the  snowy  streets  early  in  the 
morning.  He  waded  in  the  slush  at  noon.  He  clam 
bered  over  the  frozen  mud  at  night.  But  everywhere 
it  was  dull.  The  employers  were  keeping  their  men 
simply  to  have  them  when  the  busy  season  began. 
All  would  say: 

"  CALL  IN  NEXT  MAY !" 

His  campaign  in  Chicago  was  methodic.     He  took 


II®  HOPE. 

a  certain  street  each  day.  He  canvassed  one  side  in 
the  forenoon.  He  returned  in  the  afternoon,  often 
carrying  his  lunch.  He  never  lost  hope.  But  oh!  it 
was  discouraging  to  those  who  saw  it.  Another 
young  man  came  from  St.  Louis  to  the  boarding-house 
and  got  a  situation  in  a  great  dry -goods  house,  as  en- 
try clerk,  for  he  was  a  skilled  man.  This  was  unfor- 
tunate for  our  friend,  for  the  companionship  of  the  St. 
Louis  accession  was  a  positive  injury.  He  resembled 
the  pictures  of  Byron  and  was  of  a  viciously  despond- 
ent turn  of  mind.  He  hated  life  and  life's  duties. 
Our  friend  fell  into  the  toils.  Together  they  be- 
moaned the  hardness  of  the  world,  and  presently, 

LIKE  THE  COMMUNISTS  IN    AMERICA, 

they  overturned  kingdoms  and  systems  of  society  as 
they  blew  the  foam  from  their  beer.  This  folly  led 
to  a  fight  at  the  boarding-house  which  lowered  our 
friend  from  an  English  gentleman  to  a  fellow  who  was 
destitute  and  drunken,  but  it  opened  his  eyes.  St. 
Louis  left  for  warmer  climes,  but  our  friend  redoubled 
his  energy,  and  finished  the  actual  canvass  of  every 
decent-looking  place  of  business  and  factory  in  Chi- 
cago! This  is,  as  I  believe,  from  actual  evidences  I 


HOPE.  Ill 

had  at  the  time,  an  actual  fact. 

A  FINE-LOOKING  HEALTHY  YOUNG  MAN 

asked  every  probable  employer  in  Chicago  whose  at- 
tention he  could  secure  if  there  were  any  work,  and 
the  answer  was  "  No,'  sir!"  This  took  him  till  about 
the  first  of  May.  He  had  no  influence.  He  had  no 
friend  who  had  influence,  nor  any  chance  to  get  one. 
His  watch,  rings,  and  scarf-pin  gradually  went  to  the 
landlady.  His  shot-gun,  field-glass  and  clothes  were 
carried  to  the  pawnbrokers.  For  his  musket  he  got 
a  dollar,  and 

FOR  HIS  SWORD 

half  as  much — upon  a  solemn  promise  to  redeem  it,  as 
even  the  pawnbroker  doubted  the  wisdom  of  such  an 
investment  at  his  own  figures.  That  week  the  young 
man  encountered  a  gentleman  who,  in  England,  had 
known  him  well.  The  disparity  in  their  positions  was 
great,  as  the  gentleman  was  now  able  to  give  and 
recently  had  given  his  church  ten  thousand  dollars, 
but  that  disparity  had  been  greater  in  England,  where 
it  had  been  in  favor  of  the  young  man.  However? 
this  did  not  prevent  the  gentleman  offering  the  young 


112  HOPE. 

man  a  job  of  gardening  at  a  dollar  a  day,  as  that  was 
a  good  bargain,  and  that  did  not  prevent  the  young 
man  eagerly  accepting  the  offer.  That  week  he 
earned  his  board.  The  next  week  he  was  adrift 
again,  quite  well  used  up  from  heavy  work,  but 
very  active.  His  hope  was  the  one  striking  point  in 
his  character. 

HIS   CHEERY   VOICE 

could  always  be  heard.  People  liked  to  have  him 
around,  but  they  never  seemed  to  pay  him  anything  in 
return.  Early  in  June  he  got  a  job  sandpapering 
window-frames  in  a  city  cellar.  This  tried  his  mettle 
for  it  broke  his  hands  to  pieces,  but  he  worked 
through  the  job  at  eight  dollars  a  week.  It  ruined 
about  twenty-five  dollars'  worth  of  clothes  unavoidably. 
Coming  out  of  the  cellar  the  last  day  of  the  job,  he 
looked  into  a  store  which  was  just  opening.  Did 
they  want  clerks  ?  Oh,  yes.  "  Lots  "  of  them.  How 
much  did  they  pay  ?  Five  per  cent.  What  were 
they  to  sell  ?  "Milton  gold  jewelry."  All  right. 

"  MILTON   GOLD  JEWELRY  " 

was  made  a  sensation.  It  was  all  in  the  name.  Had 
they  called  it  brass  the  people  would  have  stood  off. 


HOPE.  113 

Make  a  chain  that  looks  like  gold,  call  it  Milton  or 
Shakspeare  or  Byron  gold,  and  the  people  want  it — or, 
at  least  they  did,  the  year  of  the  fire.  The  sales  of 
our  friend  footed  up  more  than  those  of  any  of  thirty 
clerks,  and  netted  him  about  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
a  day.  But  this  charming  industry  could  not  last. 
The  people  had  bought  a  chain  which  they  supposed 
to  be  worth  sixty  dollars  for  a  dollar  and  a  half.  In 
two  weeks  the  chain  would  fade.  It  was  a  necessity 
of  the  business  to  keep  moving.  Our  friend  could 
have  gone  to  some  other  city  with  the  lover  of  Milton, 
if  he  had  paid  his  own  fare,  but  he  was  heartily  dis- 
gusted with  the  business,  the  scheme  being  essentially 
American.  He  next  was  taken  to  Morris,  111.,  by 
some  kind  of  a  gang-worker.  The  English  system 
of  working  from  farm  to  farm  with  a  large  force  was 
to  be  tried.  There  he  was  treated  a  good  deal 
worse  than  hogs  should  be  used.  Finding  his  way 
back  to  Chicago,  he  again  began 

HIS    TRAMP    FOR   WORK. 

He  called  on  an  advertiser  who  wanted  him  to  travel 
at  a  figure  so  low  that  the  question  arose  as  to  how 
he  would  pay  his  t>oard,  when  the  advertiser  tolcl 

8 


1 14  HOPE. 

him  he  supposed  his  applicant  understood  that  he 
*  would  have  to  beat  the  hotels  !"  In  September 
came  the  news  of  the  death  of  his  sister  and  mother. 
And  still  he  tramped.  He  was  now  in  what  his 
casual  acquaintances  considered  "a  haixl  hole."  .  His 
landlady  was  "  carrying "  him — that  is,  she  was 
wanting  his  room  worse  than  his  company,  but,  being 
a  kind-hearted  Irish  woman,  she  could  not  believe 
another  week  would  pass  without  better  success.  No 
one  with  a  trade — no  one  with  the  slightest  influence 
—knows  what  difficulties  are  before  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land. 

AS   GOD   WOULD    HAVE    IT, 

on  Saturday  the  seventh  of  October,  1871,  he  started 
out,  again  full  of  hope.  About  a  mile  and  a  half  to 
the  west  of  the  city  he  entered  a  hotel  at  which  he 
had  often  applied  before.  The  proprietor  had  broken 
his  leg  the  day  before.  He  wanted  "  a  likely  young 
man,"  Here  was  one.  The  proprietor  was  himself 
an  Englishman.  Here  was  a  youth  whose  rosy  cheeks 
proclaimed  the  shores  •£  Albion.  On  Sunday  he 
made  ready.  That  night  and  the  following  two  days 
there  came  a  oalamity  that  horrified  the  civilized  world 


HOPE.  1 15 

— perhaps  the  barbarians  as  well.  The  employers 
who  had  refused  him  shelter  and  food  ran  like  droves 
of  wolves  before  a  prairie-fire,  and  filled  their  famished 
bodies  off  a  charity  that  has  been  likened  to  that  of 
the  Savior  of  the  world,  so  freely  was  it  given.  His 
hotel  was  not  burned.  In  the  arduous  labors  of 
housing  three  where  one  had  before  been  quartered  he 
showed  an  ability  which  attracted  the  attention  of  a 
dealer  in  real  estate  who  soon  took  him  into  his  office. 
Here  he  learned  a  trade.  His  employer  soon  found 
that  he  had  a  man  who  could  make  a  map  worth 
fifty  dollars  as  well  as  the  map-makers,  and  this  gave 
the  young  man  practice.  Hope,  kindled  into  such  a 
flame,  led  the  young  man  in  a  march  of  improvement 
that  even  continued  in  his  dreams,  for  he  often 
dreamed  out  some  combination  of  colors,  some  freak 
of  lettering,  that  elicited  everybody's  admiration. 
All  this  improvement 

DID  NOT  COME  IN  A  WEEK  OR  A  YEAR, 

but  k  led  to  his  permanent  engagement  in  a  sub- 
stantial enterprise  of  the  kind,  where  work,  elegant 
and  original,  wiH  always  await  him,  and  where  his 
usefulness  is  ever  apparent  to  the  most  unwiHmg 


1 16  HOPE 

investigator.  From  being  the  victim  of  the  most 
cruel  circumstances  which  a  man  in  health  ever 
encountered  under  my  observation,  he  has  become  the 
valued  companion  of  the  leaders  of  thought,  of  art, 
and  of  music,  and  I  feel  confident  that  the  whole  of 
his  ultimate  success  at  one  time  in  his  career  depended 
on  the  fact  that  he  had  more  hope  than  any  other  man  I 
ever  saw. 

HOPE  IS  LIKE  THE  CORK  TO  THE  NET, 

which  keeps  the  soul  from  sinking  in  despair.  Hope 
is  the  sun,  which  as  we  journey  towards  it,  casts  the 
shadow  of  our  burden  behind  us.  Dr.  Johnson  has 
well  and  truly  said  that  the  flights  of  the  human 
mind  are  not  from  enjoyment  to  enjoyment,  but  from 
hope  to  hope.  It  is  a  strange  frailty  of  human  nature 
that  we  part  more  willingly  with  what  we  really 
possess  than  with  our  expectations  of  what  we  wish 
for.  The  man  who  curbs  this  tendency  is  known  as 
a  man  of  wisdom.  What  a  beautiful  poem  is 
CAMPBELL'S  "  PLEASURES  OF  HOPE  ! " 
How  the  changes  ring  upon  the  beauties  of  "  Hope, 
the  charmer,11  until,  at  last,  we  see  her  smiling  at  the 
general  conflagration,  we  see  her  lighting  her  torch 


HOt»E.  I  ty 

at  nature's  funeral  pile  !  And  yet  what  an  ingenious 
device  was  that  of  the  ancient,  who,  knowing  the 
powerful  allurements  of  Hope,  put  on  the  front  of  the 
magic  shield  "  Be  bold  !  Be  bold  !  "  and  on  the  other  side 
u  Be  not  too  bold  ! "  There  is  a  development  of 
hope  known  as  audacity.  A  touch  of  audacity  is 
generally  considered  necessary  to  get  along  in  the 
world.  Be  careful  that  your  audacity  is  never 
called  "  cheek."  When  you  have  rights  to  retrieve, 
you  cannot  be  too  audacious ;  when  you  expect 
something  for  nothing,  and  demand  instead  of 
appealing,  you  are  "  cheeky."  It  does  not  pay  in  the 
long  run.  It  is  the  sign  and  seal  of  a  greedy  nature. 

WHEN    POOR   FRANCE 

trembled  in  the  nightmare  of  the  Revolution,  and 
the  Kings  of  Europe  had  agreed  to  conquer  and  dis- 
member her,  there  arose  a  dark-faced  man  m  the 
tribune  of  the  French  Congress.  He  was  a  man  of 
terrible  personal  power  and  magnetism.  Hope  must 
have  cradled  him  in  his  baby-hood.  He  hurled  a 
defiance  at  Europe  that  fairly  shook  France  to  a 
delirium  of  patriotism,  and  as  he  was  drawing  to  a 
close  he  thundered  ;  "What  needs  France  to 


1 1 8  HOPE. 

vanquish  her  enemies  *  to  terrify  them  ?  Naught  but 
audacity! — still  more  audacity! — always!  audacity!" 
Fourteen  republican  armies  sprang  forth  full  armed, 
as  though  Danton's  words  had  been  the  fabulous 
dragon's  teeth  sown  ages  before  in  the  bright  fields 
of  mythology. 

FRANCE   WAS    RIGHT, 

therefore  God  inspired  her.  Be  sure,  when  your 
flights  are  bold,  that  you  have  the  right.  "  Thrice 
armed  is  he  who  hath  his  quarrel  just."  Hope  has 
been  defamed  more  than  any  other  of  the  joys  of  life, 
just  as  the  most  charitable  become  the  target  of  the 
greater  portion  of  the  malignity  of  fault-finding  fellow- 
creatures.  Treat  Hope  fairly,  my  young  friend, 
and  she  will  never  desert  you,  neither  will  she  poison 
your  expectations,  as  did  the  hags  who  prophesied  to 
Macbeth. 


Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 

A  hero  perish  or  a  sparrow  fall. 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled. 

And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. — POPE. 


HAVE  here  quoted  one  of  the 
grandest  flights  of  the  human 
fancy,  and  with  a  purpose.  If 
God,  who  is  perfection,  and  in 
whose  image  we  are  faintly 
formed,  watches  the  weakliest  of  his  lambs, 
supports  the  weariest  of  his  poor  sparrows, 
should  not  we,  in  trying  to  be  'true  men, 
endeavor  to  pay  equal  care  to  all  things 
intrusted  to  our  attention,  be  they  great  or 
be  they  small  !  And  more  than  that. 
The  little  errors  beget  myriads  of  their 
kind.  "Manymickles  make  a  muckle." 
The  habit  sooner  or  later,  leads  some  of  us  into  an 
awful  abyss,  where  it  had  been  better  we  had  not  lived. 
Errors  creep  into  character  just  as  ideas  get  into  our 
brain.  Says  Moore  : 


120  15E  CORRECT, 

And  how  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguers  win 
Unhoped-for  entrance  through  some  friend  within. 
One  clear  idea,  wakened  in  the  breast 
By  memory's  magic,  lets  in  all  the  rest. 

Says  Franklin:  "A  little  neglect  may  breed  great 
mischief ;  for  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost ;  for 
want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost ;  for  want  of 
a  horse  the  driver  was  lost ;  being  overtaken  and 
slain  by  an  enemy,  all  for  the  want  of  care  about  a 
horse -shoe  nail."  "  In  persons  grafted  with  a  serious 
trust,"  says  Shakspeare  "negligence  is  a  serious 
crime."  And  so  it  is. 

STORY    OF    SAG   BRIDGE. 

In  September,  1873,  a  conductor  on  the  Chicago  and 
Alton  Railroad  started  south  with  a  freight  train. 
He  was  to  stop  at  a  station  a  few  miles  from  Joliet 
and  wait  for  the  incoming  passenger  train  from  St. 
Louis.  He  consulted  his  watch.  That  unhappy 
piece  of  mechanism  told  him  that  he  had  time  to 
reach  the  next  station.  He  spoke  to  the  operator  of 
the  telegraph.  That  person  could  give  him  no 
information  as  to  where  the  passenger  train  was, 
and  he,  determining  not  to  wait,  pulled  out.  As  his 
train  was  still  within  hearing,  the  operator  rushed 


BE  CORRECT  121 

to  the  platform  with  the  news  that  the  passenger 
train  had  left  the  nearest  station  !  The  operator 
knew  that 

TWO  TRAINS  WERE  ABOUT  TO  COME  IN  COLLISION, 

a  knowledge  that  has  sometimes  deprived  railroad 
men  of  their  minds  forever.  Soon  the  awful  shock 
reverberated  afar,  and  from  nine  to  fifteen  persons 
were  killed  in  a  horrible  manner.  One  of  the  most 
prominent  men  of  Chicago  was  scalded  so  that 
the  flesh  left  his  skeleton.  An  unkind  fate  preserved 
the  conductor  to  confront  his  ignominy.  It  was 
found  that 

HE  HAD  FORGOTTEN  TO  WIND  UP  HIS  WATCH  ! 

How  could  such  a  butchery  have  been  brought  about, 
save  by  a  course  of  small  errors  which  had  eaten  into 
his  moral  nature,  leaving  him  a  great  ghoulish  fiend 
of  Carelessness,  running  his  pitiless  Juggernaut  up 
and  down  the  highway  between  two  great  cities  ! 
The  hideous  errors  made  by  men  are  always  indicative 
of  those  particular  men.  Some  people  never  make 
errors  at  all  !  Why  ?  Because  they  are  careful. 
Simple,  is  it  not — like  Napoleon's  tactics  ?  Yet  that 
constant  care  is  so  wonderful  in  its  effects  that  human 


122  BE  CORRECT. 

science  cannot  peer  into  the  mystery  of  its  action. 
Men  laboring;  under  total  aberration  of  the  mind  have 

O 

been  known  to  carefully  wind,  a  clock  at  a  given 
hour,  and  evince  no  other  power  to  do  a  reasonable 
thing.  Begin  early  in  life  to  do  all  these  little  things 
with  the  greatest  care. 

IMITATE  THE  CELEBRATED  DETECTIVES, 

who  actually  pay  little  attention  to  things  g^oss  and 
palpable,  but  follow  the  more  closely  those  minute 
clews  which,  interlacing  and  concentering,  often  as 
a  whole,  lead  them,  with  the  greatest  certainty,  to 
the  dark  hand  that  did  the  foul  deed.  Here  is 

A    RIDICULOUS    ERROR  : 

On  Tuesday,  the  third  of  May,  1881,  Scranton, 
Willard  &  Co.,  brokers,  of  New  York  City,  sold  to 
Decker  &  Co.  stocks  to  the  enormous  sum  of 
$127,000.  For  this  property  Decker  &  Co.  wrote 
a  check  on  a  bank  for  $127,000,  and  a  messenger 
was  sent  by  the  cashier  of  Scranton,  Willard  &  Co., 
to  have  the  check  certified — that  is,  to  have  the  bank 
officials  write  across  the  face  of  the  check  in  red  ink 
"  Certified,"  meaning  that  the  money  was  there  and 
would  thenceforth  be  dedicated  to  the  redemption  of 


BE  CORRECT.  123 

that  particular  piece  of  paper.  The  boy  returned 
with  the  check,  the  cashier  put  upon  his  own  file  a 
"tag "  representing  the  amount  of  money,  along  with 
many  other  similar  records,  and  the  boy  was  sent 
with  the  check  to  the  Bank  of  North  America. 
The  boy  handed  to  the  banker,  with  the  check,  a 
similar  "  tag  v  from  the  cashier,  which  was  also  filed. 
When  you  deposit  money,  at  many  banks,  you  fill 
out  a  "  tag  "  or  deposit-check,  and  offer  it  with  the 
money,  which  "tag"  is  used  by  the  banker  as  a 
safeguard  against  errors  and  lapses  of  all  kinds. 
When  Scranton,  Willard  &  Co.'s  cashier  reckoned  up 
his  "  tags  ' '  he  found  no  record  of  a  check  for 
$127,000.  He  immediately  accused  the  boy  of  pur- 
loining the  check,  and  inquiry  at  the  bank  (met  by 
the  reply  that  no  such  check  had  been  deposited,  as 
shown  by  the  depositor's  own  "  tags")  strengthened 
his  suspicions. 

ALL  THE  BANKS  OF  NEW  YORK 

were  at  once  notified  of  the  loss  of  the  great  check, 
and  costly  engagements  were  made  to  advertise  the 
matter  all  over  the  country.  The  boy  was  not  ar- 
rested, but  his  case  was  not  neglected,  you  may  be 


124  **E  CORRECT* 

assured.  Repeated  cross-questioning  failed  to  shake 
his  simple  statement,  that  he  had  done  as  he  had  been 
told  to  do. 

THE  ACCOUNTS  OF  THE  BANK  OF  NORTH  AMERICA 

were  behind  that  afternoon,  and  the  cashier  stayed 
until  late  in  the  day  to  get  them  balanced.  After  he 
had  finally  secured  the  totals  of  the  day's  transactions, 
he  found  that  he  had  received,  according  to  the  de- 
positors1 "tags,"  $114,300  less  than  he  had  paid  out.' 
In  some  perturbation  he  recalled  the  notice  of  Scran- 
ton,  Willard  &  Co.,  and  at  once  sent  to  them,  to  see 
if  that  affair  had  anything  to  do  with  his  immense 
discrepancy.  Following  this  line  of  inquiry,  Scranton, 
Willard  &  Co.'s  cashier  found  that,  in  attempting  to 
put  the  figures  "  127,000  "  on  the  "tag  "  of  deposit 
he  had  neglected  to  write  the  last  cipher,  and  the 
"tag  "for  $12, 700  which  had  been  made  in  its  place, 
added  to  $i  14,300  which  the  banker  lacked  in  "  tags," 
exactly  made  up  the  $127,000  which  the  bank  had 
in  reality  credited  to  Scranton,  Willard  &  Co.'s  ac- 
count. How  could  a  man  leave  oft 

A  CIPHER  WHICH  MEANT  $1 14,300  ? 

Simply  by  a  course  of  instruction  and  development 


BE  CORRECT.  I2C 

in  error,  until,  probably  nothing  save  the  most  colossal 
sums  would  command  his  unqualified  attention.  Let 
us  suppose  your  mother  or  sister  gives  you  a  letter  to 
mail.  Do  not  put  that  letter  in  your  pocket.  Carry 
it  in  your  hand  until  you  reach  the  place  to  post  it. 
Do  this  for  years.  After  that  drill,  when  you  get  a 
letter  to  mail,  you  will  not  heed  to  keep  it  in  your 
hand,  for  you  will  feel  it  in  your  hand  just  as  long  as 
it  is  in  your  pocket,  as  the  one-armed  man  has  sensa- 
tions in  both  hands ! 

"  WE  NEVER  MAKE  MISTAKES  !  " 

I  spoke  in  the  preceding  chapter  of  the  ancient  shield 
with  its  "  Be  Bold !  Be  Bold  ! "  Now,  on  our  modern 
shield  we  would  put  "  Be  Correct  !  Be  Correct ! "  and 
it  would  not  be  necessary  to  put  on  the  reverse  side 
"  Be  not  too  Correct ! "  You  cannot  afford  to  make 
errors!  Last  year  a  gentleman  drew  a  sum  of  money 
from  the  First  National  Bank  of  New  York  City. 
As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  building,  he  discovered 
an  error.  He  returned  to  the  paying  teller.  He 
said:  "  I  think  you  have  made  a  mistake  in  paying 
me.  The  cashier  stood  there,  by  chance.  "  No,  sir," 
said  he,  "we  never  make  mistakes!"  (iBut,"  sai4 


126  BE    CORRECT. 

the  gentleman,  "you  gave  me  twe-nty  dollars  too 
much  money! "  "  No,  sir!"  thundered  the  cashier, 
u.we  never  make  mistakes ! "  Not  for  twenty  dollars 
in  cash  would  that  banker  admit  that  the  establish- 
ment with  which  he  was  connected  ever  made  a  mis- 
take. And  you  can  be  assured  that 


most  of  the  ordinary  blunders  of  business.  Now  if 
this  great  rich  banker  could  not  afford  to  indulge  in 
mistakes,  how  much  less  can  you,  who  have  your 
whole  fortune  to  make,  be  anything  less  than  strictly 
accurate  in  all  your  operations?  Study  the  spirit  of 
that  banker's  answer.  Imitate  his  horror  of  an  error. 
He  must  have  had  good  reasons  for  that  feeling. 

A    HOMELY    EXAMPLE. 

A  customer  comes  in  from  the  country.  He  sajs : 
"  I  have  brought  a  load  of  wheat  to  town  to-day — 
about  fifty  bushel  I  should  guess.  I'll  be  in  after  noon 
and  settle  my  account  with  you."  Very  good;  you, 
the  clerk,  hurry  to  your  books,  to  make  out  his  ac- 
count. When  he  comes  in,  he  glances  over  it,  and 
says:  "Good  gracious!  you  haven't  given  me  credit 


BE  CORRECT.  127 

for  four  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  I  paid  you  last 
May.  I  recollect  it  because  I  was  in  town  to  get  a 
corn-planter  when  I  paid  it.  And  I've  got  your  re- 
ceipt, too."  Sure  enough,  there  is  the  receipt,  which 
you  have  filled  out  yourself.  And  yet  you  failed  to 
make  an  entry  of  the  fact  in  his  account.  Shame 
covers  you. 

THE  FARMER  BEGINS  TO  HAVE  SUSPICIONS. 

Your  employer  begins  to  talk  of -the  fall  plowing  as 
soon  as  he  can,  but  the  farmer  goes  over  to  your  un- 
scrupulous competitors  in  business,  relates  to  them  the 
fact  that  his  scrupulous  attention  to  details  has  saved 
him  four  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents,  and  asks  their 
opinion  as  to  whether  or  not  an  attempt  were  not 
made  to  cheat  him.  His  listeners  talk  about  you  in  a 

mild-  mannered  way- 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
:  And  without  sneering," teach  the  rest  to  sneer. 

Off  goes  your  customer  in  his  lumber- wagon,  carrying 
that  gross  libel  upon  your  place  of*  business,  to  fill  the 
prairies  and  the  openings  wkh  its  brood  of  gossiped 
offspring,  until,  some  day,  it  comes  back  that  your 
employer  is  a  horsethief  and  has  served  a  term  in  the 
penitentiary! 


128  BE  CORRECT. 

The  errors  which  are  often  made  in  handling  figures 
are  just  as  annoying.  It  is  a  trifling  error  to  call  eight 
and  four  thirteen,  but  it  often  may  disconcert  an  im- 
mense calculation.  Like  the  pebble  in  the  shoe, 
small  in  itself,  it  may  do  great  injury.  Some  years 
ago  there  traveled  through  the  country  a  genuine 
"  lightning  calculator."  You  could  put  down  any 
number,  big  or  little,  while  his  back  was  turned,  and. 
he  would  turn  again  and  mark  the  total  with  far 
greater  rapidity  than  he  could  speak,  and  he  thought 
out  the  total  far  quicker  than  he  could  mark  it.  *  Of 
course,  he  had  a  magic  book  to  sell,  but  when  you 
came  to  read  his  magic  book  and  see  how  he  did  it, 
you  found  it  was  the  same  old  way,  only  he  was 
more  expert  than  you.  He  could  add  four  thousand 
two  hundred  and  twenty  eight  and  three  thousand 
six  hundred  and  fifty  four  as  easily  as  you  eould  forty 
two  and  thirty  six,  or  perhaps  four  and  three,  so  you 
see  that  the  scheme  of  running  up  a  single  column  of 
figures  is  at  best  a  clumsy  one. 

YOU    EXPOSE   YOURSELF 

to  additional  errors  by  enlarging   the   possible   addi- 
tions  in  a  body  of  numbers.    We  are  taught   the. 


BE  CORRECT. 


129 


multiplication  table  up  to  twelve  times  twelve.  We 
never  stumble  up  to  that  point.  But  it  ought  to  con- 
tinue up  to  one  hundred  times  one  hundred.  We 
could  then  always  add  two  figures  to  two  figures 
easier  then  to  parcel  the  operation  out  into  two  jobs. 
The  "  lightning  calculator "  had  probably  carried 
it  up  to  five  thousand  times  five  thousand.  Take  an 
interest  in  "  sums."  Learn 

THE    FREAKS   OF    FIGURES. 

For  instance,  to  multiply  any  set  of  figures  by  n — 
say  54 — add  the  5  and  4  together  and  put  the  9 
between  the  5  and  the  4.  To  multiply  i,  2,  3,  4,  5 
and  6  by  n,  do  the  same  way,  only  carry  your  lo's. 
Thus  6  and  5  are  n,  put  down  i  before  the  6  ;  5  and 
4  are  9  and  i  to  carry  is  10  ;  put  down  the  o  before 
the  16,  etc.  Again  to  multiply,  say  18  9's  by  9,  bring 
down  a  i,  then  make  lyo'sand  a  9  out  to  the  left. 
Again  to  square  numbers,  call  even  lo's  the  body  ; 
call  the  rest  the  surplus, — 104  — add  surplus  to  body 
making  it  108  ;  now  square  the  surplus  (4)  making  16 
and  put  it  after  the  108,  or  10,816.  This  is  simply 
taking  advantage  of  the  los.  Take  33  and  you  will 
see.  Here  3  is  the  surplus  ;  add  the  surplus,  making 


130  BE  CORRECT. 

36 ;  multiply  36  by  30,  making  i  ,080 ;  square  the 
surplus,  3  times  3 — 9  ;  add  to  1,080 — making  1,089 
You  see  you  get  an  even  thirty  to  multiply  by  and 
load  up  the  sum  to  be  multiplied  sufficiently  to 
balance.  Above  5  call  it  a  deficit  and  go  to  your 
next  10  for  your  body. 

I    MENTION    THESE    TRICKS 

not  because  they  are  good  for  anything  practical,  but 
to  get  you  to  take  up  figures  and  be  quick  with  them. 
Get  yourself  up  a  multiplication  table  running  to 
50  times  50 — there's  something  practical.  The  man 
quick  and  accurate  at  figures  is  always  esteemed. 

OUR   LANGUAGE 

is  a  vast  record  of  the  changes  in  pronunciation  which 
have  been  brought  about  by  affected  people  as  well 
as  careless  and  ignorant  people.  "  'Tis  true  'tis  pity, 
and  pity  'tis  'tis  true."  But  you  cannot  change  it  by 
spelling  "balance  "  with  two  /s,  or  "sure  "  with  an  h. 
Be  accurate  in  your  spelling.  Restrict  yourself  to 
such  words  as  you  can  spell,  and  you  will  soon 
improve  if  you  are  guilty  of  such  errors.  In 
conclusion,  if  you  go  fishing  and  catch  three  percli 


BE  CORRECT.  131 

and  one  black  bass,  say  that  you  caught  those  fish, 
and  not  that  you  caught  three  black  bass  and  one 
perch.  Right  there  is  where  you  can  form  habits  that 
will  shine  out  in  your  face  as  you  grow  to  the  full 
dignity  of  manhood.  You  see  I  lay  special  stress  on 
habit.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  said  that  habit  was 
ten  times  nature.  Horace  Mann  said 

"  HABIT  IS  A  CABLE. 

We  weave  a  thread  of  it  every  day,  and  at  last  we 
cannot  break  it."  Dr.  Locke  said  with  a  wonderful 
knowledge  of  life:  "Habit  works  more  constantly 
and  with  greater  facility  than  reason;  which,  when  we 
have  most  need  of  it,  is  seldom  fairly  consulted,  and 
more  rarely  obeyed."  Thus,  you  see,  when  a  man  is 
spoken  of  as  a  person  "of  good  habits,"  it  means  some- 
thing more  than  is  usually  conceived.  It  means  he 
is  under  chains  which  he  cannot  break — and,  in  reality, 
that  he  could  not  be  a  bad  man  without  suffering  and 
discomfort. 


Nothing;  succeeds  so  well  as  success. — TALLEYRAND. 

HE  man  Talleyrand,  who  made 
the  above  mocking  assertion,  was 
one  of  the  closest  observers  of 
human  nature  who  have  ever 
lived.  And  yet  what  he  said  in  a 
spirit  of  uncommon  hatred  of  his  fellow- 
beings  is  really  another  way  of  saying  the 
exact  truth — that  success  comes  only  after 
so  many  trials  and  disappointments  that 
the  world,  considering  it  a  safe  rule, 
admires  the  result,  and  feels  that  the 
reflected  credit  for  a  great  result  belongs 
to  him  upon  whom  it  falls.  Beside  you 
toils  a  young  man  of  your  own  age.  He  does  not  seem 
to  care  to  rise.  He  dislikes  the  few  duties  of  the 
present,  and  would  be  inclined  to  shrink  from  further 
responsibilities.  It  may  be  that  he  is  the  happier  as 
compared  with  you,  but  men  must  not  consult  simply 


SUCCESS, 


133 


their  own  individual  happiness.  Sooner  or  later  all 
men  take  on  a  broader  burden  than  merely  their  own 
support.  Try  early  in  life  to  get  the  start  which 
the  experience  of  others  furnishes  you.  You  are 
lucky  that  you  were  born  in  the  latter  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  Men  before  you  have,  by 
ambition  and  energy,  made  the  affair  of  living  easier 
for  you.  Right  here  in  youth  is  the  time  to  begin 
the  battle.  You  are  now  a  private. 

OFFICERS    ARE   VERY    SCARCE. 

Make  up  your  mind  to  have  shoulder-straps  early  in 
the  campaign.  You  cannot  afford  to  miss  a  single 
battle.  Every  opportunity  which  opens  to  you  is  a 
city  to  be  taken,  and  you  are  to  be  put  in  command. 
See  that  it  surrenders.  No  city  ever  properly 
besieged  evaded  final  capitulation.  The  chances  are 
all  in  your  favor.  Remember,  when  you  contemplate 
your  unambitious  comrade,  that  he  is  likely  to  change 
his  tastes  as  he  grows  older.  If  he  cannot  give  a 
reasonable  degree  of  encouragement  to  those  tastes 
he  will  then  become  crabbed  and  sour.  Wherever 
you  see  men  crusty  and  difficult  to  please,  be  sure 


134  SUCCESS. 

they  have  had  cities  to  take  and  failed  to  capture 
them. 

ALEXANDER   SMITH, 

a  Scotch  poet  who  died  at  a  very  early  age,  said  very 
appropriately  :  "  To  bring  the  best  human  qualities 
to  anything  like  perfection,  to  fill  them  with  the  sweet 
juices  of  courtesy  and  charity,  prosperity,  or,  at  all 
events,  a  moderate  amount  of  it,  is  required — just  as 
sunshine  is  needed  for  the  ripening  of  peaches  and 
strawberries."  Now  how  are  you  to  catch  this 
marvelous  sunshine  of  prosperity  ?  Simply,  do  not 
shut  it  out.  Your  comrade  has  had  the  moral  ague. 
He  fears  that,  if  the  sun  shine  on  him,  it  will  bring  a 
return  ef  his  fever.  When  the  sun  shines  on  you,  do 
not  miss  a  ray.  It  makes  you  grow. 

YOUR   PARTICULAR   DUTIES 

are  soon  learned.  Why  is  it  that  the  affairs  of 
walking  behind  a  counter  find  actually  knowing  what 
your  employer  pays  for  his  goods  so  soon  lose  the 
magic  there  once  was  in  them  ?  It  is  because  the 
human  brain  is  supple,  and  comprehends  quickly. 
By  the  time  certain  problems  are  solved  others 
spring  up.  See  that  you  solve  them.  The  mind 


SUCCESO.  135 

should  be  pacified  in  its  desire  for  new  conquests. 

THF    SAFE   RULE 

as  to  whether  or  not  you  are  fitted  for  new 
endeavors  is  to  find  to  your  own  true  satisfaction 
that  you  can  do  your  duties  better  than  anyone  not 
in  daily  practice  of  the  same  kind  of  work.  If 
your  employer  can  take  hold  and  do  a  thing  once  a 
week  better  than  you  who  do  it  a  hundred  times  a 
day,  then  it  should  still  have  considerable  charm  for 
yju,  for  your  mind  is  strangely  unfamiliar  with  the 
procedure.  When  a  clerk  stays  in  one  position  all 
his  life,  it  is  certain  to  be  from 

LACK   OF   BOTH    AMBITION    AND    ABILITY, 

and  he  lacks  a  good  deal  of  each.  Every  little  while, 
through  the  sickness,  advancement,  or  bad  judgment 
of  others,  a  place  just  a  little  more  responsible  than 
your  own  is  left  vacant.  Somebody  is  wanted  badly. 
You  are  the  man,  and  are  put  there  for  the  interval. 
There  is  the  pivotal  point.  By  unusual  endeavor 
you  can  probably  fill  the  place  better  than  it  was  filled 
by  the  regular  occupant.  Your  employer,  expecting 
less  of  you,  gets  more,  and  praises  you.  Now,  by 


136  SUCCESS. 

praising  you,  he  is,  somehow  or  other, 

"TAKING  STOCK  IN  YOU." 

If  he  "keeps  you  down,"  he  shows  his  poor  judgment, 
and  he  is  not  going  to  do  that  if  he  can  help  it.  On 
the  other  hand,  your  comrade  is  put  in  the  vacant 
place.  The  duties  are  hard  and  perplexing.  He  is 
compelled  to  go  and  ask  a  man  for  some  money. 
The  man  is  mean.  He  not  only  refuses  the  money, 
but  addresses  some  personal  considerations  to  your 
comrade  which  sicken  him  to  the  heart.  He  returns 
to  your  employer  with  a  tale  of  failure  well  tinged 
with  his  own  morbid  feelings  and  wounded  vanity. 
Your  employer  is  irritated,  and  attributes  the  fiasco 
to  the  ambassador.  To  satisfy  his  own  views  of 
things,  he  prophesies  that  your  comrade  never  will 
amount  to  anything,  anyhow.  Now,  to  see  this 
prediction  verified  is,  unfortunately  for  your  comrade, 
just  as  necessary  to  your  employer's  self-love  as  to 
see  you  succeed.  The  point  of  the  first  opportunity, 
the  first  impression  on  your  employer,  is  really  central, 
pivotal.  If  you  get  a  big  iron  safe  on  such  a  .spot, 
you  can  turn  it  with  extraordinary  ease. 

There  is  no  road  to  practical  business  so  good  as 


SUCCESS.  137 

practice.  You  read  of  clerks  being  educated  by 
sham  forms  of  business.  You  might  as  well  read  of 
men  gambling  with  counterfeit  money.  Business  men 
want  clerks  who  have  been  private,  corporal,  sergeant, 
lieutenant,  captain.  When  a  man  starts  in  as  captain 
he  is  likely  to  get  discharged  as  private.  In  the 
great  printing  houses 

PROOF  READERS 

are  required,  to  see  that  the  types  are  spelled  out,  one 
by  one,  into  the  right  words,  and  that  the  right  words 
are  rightly  spelled.  Now  let  a  college  graduate  ap- 
ply for  such  a  position.  He  knows  Greek  and  Latin. 
He  can  spell — or  thinks  he  can.  He  can  turn  you 
out  a  sentence,  which,  after  going  about  so  far,  refers 
to  what  it  is  talking  about,  cuts  a  pigeon- wing  like 
the  boys  on  the  ice?  tells  a  little  tale  between  two 
dashes,  and  one  inside  of  that  between  two  parenthe- 
ses ("  finger-nails,"  the  printers  call  them),  again  refers 
to  what  it  is  talking  about,  and  closes  up  with  three 
unaccented  syllables  following  a  heavy  sound.  Some- 
times folks  hire  this  gentleman.  The  proof-slip  is 
thrown  in  wet,  greatly  to  his  horror,  and  after  drying 
it  he  finds  they  are  waiting  for  it  outside,  and  some 


138  SUCCESS. 

other  proof-reader  is  compelled  to  take  it.  Then  he 
learns  he  must  read  it  wet,  as  it  is.  Pretty 
soon  the  foreman  of  the  printers  brings  in  a  proof-slip 
which  is  set  in  three  sizes  of  type  where  the  gentle- 
man discovered  but  one  size.  Then  the  foreman  of 
the  proof-room  has  a  discouraging  way  of  taking  the 
gentleman's  proof  and  marking  from  eight  to  ten  glar- 
ing typographical  errors  which  the  gentleman  has 
overlooked,  and  eight  or  ten  typographical  absurdities, 
which  he  has  approved,  and,  horrors  upon  horrors! 
eight  or  ten  errors  of  "  style."  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  the  gentleman  has  learned  that  every  time  the 
word  "  President "  appears  in  the  newspaper  it  is 
either  capitalized  or  uncapitalized,  while  he  had  nat- 
urally supposed  that  it  took  its  chances,  the  way  a 
pic-nic  does! 

THUS  THE  GENTLEMAN  GETS  AN  IDEA 

of  his  utter  incompetency  to  fill  the  place  of  a  trained 
man.  And  he  never  gets  half  so  complete  a  view  of 
his  uselessness  as  do  those  around  him.  Such  proof- 
readers rarely  work  two  nights.  They  are  corporals 
in  captains'  places.  Or,  perhaps,  they  are  captains 
of  artillery  in  the  infantry  service.  What  do  folks  do 


SUCCESS.  139 

when  the  best  proof-reader  is  missing?  They  go  out 
into  the  type-setting  room  and  take  the  brightest  prin- 
ter they  can  find.  He  cannot  tell  French  from  Latin, 
but  he  can  see  a  fair  share  of  the  errors  in  a  proof- 
slip,  and  will  not  let  the  telegraphic  abbreviation  for 
government  go  into  the  paper  as  "goat,"  nor  that  for 
Republican  as  "  roofer,"  as  I  have  seen  collegiates  do. 

HE    IS    ALREADY     A    LIEUTENANT. 

Give  him  a  little  practice  and  he  is  a  captain.  With 
energy  and  ambition  failure  never  comes  if  you  only 
know  the  difficulties.  "  Fools  rush  in  where  angels 
fear  to  tread  "  is  as  good  in  business  as  in  poetry.  In 
the  great  cities  there  are  long  streets  lined  with  retail 
store-rooms  of  every  quality  of  location.  They  rent  at 
from  twenty-five  to  a  hundred  dollars  a  month.  Many 
a  store-room  has  not  had  an  occupant  in  it  for  ten 
years  who  did  not  grow  poorer.  No  good  business 
man  could  be  induced  to  enter  into  a  business  at  such 
a  point.  But 

THE  FOOLS  HAVE  RUSHED  IN, 

like  the  collegiate  into  the  proof-room,  convinced  that 
they  could  do  what  good  business  men  know  to  be 
impossible, — that  is  take  in  eight  dollars  a  day  and 


140  .    SUCCESS. 

pay  fifty  dollars  rent,  on  forty  per  cent  profit.     Here 
and  there  is  a  grocer  who  gets  up  at  half  past  five 
in  the  morning,  opens  up,  puts  out  his  eggs,  oranges, 
berries,  lemons,  potatoes,  beans,  and  bananas,  sweeps 
out,  gets  out  his  horse,  goes  to  the  market-street,  does 
a   day's  buying  there  and  elsewhere,  and  by  eight 
o'clock  is  ready  for  business,  just  about  as  the  man 
who  expects  to  share  in  trade  with  him  is  unlocking 
his  doors.     Speak  to  the  eight  o'clock  man  and  he  will 
tell  you  that  he  has  to  stay  up  till  ten  at  night,  and 
that  he  cannot  burn  the  candle  of  life  at  both  ends. 
But,  for  all  that,  he  is  grievously  disappointed  when 
the  final  collapse  comes.     Nothing  succeeds  like  suc- 
cess because  very  few  things  are  like  success.     Noth- 
ing on  the  street  succeeds  like  this  grocery,  because 
nowhere  else  on  the  street  is  so  much  work  dome  by 
so  few  men.     Nowhere  else  does  the  proprietor  put 
all  of  his  time  and  his  money  into  his  business,  and,  in 
strawberry  time,  for  instance,  retail  thirty-five  dollars' 
worth  of  strawberries  in  one  day  with  only  one  clerk, 
one  delivery-boy  and  a  cashier!     At  the  same  time, 
this  successful  grocer  would  not  invest  one  cent  in  the 
store-room  opposite,  where,  with  so  much  confidence, 


SUCCESS. 

the  eight-o'clock  man  has  put  all  his  money. 

THE  MAN  OF  SUCCESS  KNOWS  THE  DIFFICULTIES. 

"  Let  not  him  that  girdeth  on  his  harness  boast  him- 
self as  he  that  putteth  it  off, "says  the  Bible,  yet  that  is 
precisely  what  we  are  doing  when  we  smile  at  the 
sally  of  some  envious  dealer  about  the  "luck  "  of  our 
grocer — that  "  nothing  succeeds  as  well  as  success." 
But  the  landlord  goes  on  renting  his  store-room,  and 
thanking  his  stars  that  the  fools  are  not  all  dead  yet. 
Do  not  desire  a  position  two  grades  ahead  of  you. 
The  one  that  is  next  to  you  is  your  proper  goal. 
Over  the  shoulder  of  the  companion  who  holds  it  you 
can  get  many  a  glance  long  before  your  chance 
comes  to  do  the  work,  and,  even  then,  what  looked  so 
very  easy  to  you  before  it  came  your  turn  to  do  it,  will 
now  "shoot  light  horrors  through  you."  In  a  large 
measure  people  are  bought  at  their  own  prices.  If 
they  are  worth  those  figures,  their  fortune  is  made. 
A  celebrated  painter  was  once  asked  how  he  mixed 
his  colors.  He  replied  that  . 

HE  "MIXED  THEM  WITH  BRAINS." 
Mix  brains  with  your  business.     Like  the  opium  or 
chloral  slave  you  will  be  able  to  endure  a  largei  quan- 


142  SUCCESS. 

tity  each  day,  and  the  effect  will  not  be  darkness  and 
death,  but  light  and  life.  Simply  because  you  think 
you  can  do  a  thing  is  no  great  sign  you  can  do  it- 
You  must  have  brains  and  probabilities  in  your  favor. 
You  must  absolutely  have  done  something  very  nearly 
like  it.  I  never  saw  a  more  signal  instance  of  the 
general  self-conceit  of  the  race  than  in  the  experience 
of  a  young  man  who  once  sold  a  little  rubber  reed 
which  he  laid  on  his  tongue,  and  with  which 

HE  MOCKED  ALL  KINDS  OF  BIRDS. 

After  seeing  him  do  it,  the  crowd  would  gather  about 
in  great  herd.;,  with  their  "  quarters  "  high  in  the  air, 
anxious  to  purchase,  and  just  as  sure  they  could  do  the 
same  thing  as  the  eight  o'clock  man  that  he  can  get 
a  crowd  into  his  store.  I  do  not  remember  a  solitary 
instance  where  a  purchaser  ever  acquired  the  least  fa- 
cility in  imitating  the  sounds  of  birds,  and  I  have  been 
tempted  to  believe  the  "machine  "was  a  "dummy" 
by  which  the  salesman  conveyed  to  the  gaping  crowd 
fehe  hope  of  acquiring  his  wonderful  art..  Do  not,  in 
the  journey  of  life,  attempt  impossible  stages  of  travel 
because  they  look  easy  at  the  start.  Stop  at  each  inn 


SUCCESS. 

which  the  experience  of  years  has  shown  to  be  neces- 
sary for  your  continued  comfort.  But  never,  on  any 
account,  lie  down  between  the  inns,  for  the  outlaws 
called  Failure  and  Discredit  will  fall  upon  you  and 
work  your  destruction.  "  Whatsoever  thy  hand  find- 
eth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might;  for  there  is  no  work, 
nor  device,  nor  knowledge  nor  wisdom  in  the  grave." 
"  In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed."  "  Let  us  crown  our 
selves  with  rosebuds  before  they  be  withered." 


But  to  our  tale. — Ae  market  night 

Tarn  had  got  planted  unco  right 

Fast  by  an  ingle  bleezing  finely 

Wi  reaming  swats  that  drank  divinely; 

And  at  his  elbow  Souter  Johnny, 

His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony; 

Tarn  lo'ed  him  like  a  very  brither — 

They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither ! — BURNS. 


CANNOT  but   feel    much    ap- 
prehension    in     approaching     a 
subject   so   nearly   allied  to  the 
actual  inner  character  of  a  man. 
"A    man    is     known     by     the 
company   he   keeps."     I    cannot 
admonish  the  blind  that  they  should  see. 
I  cannot  suggest  to  Tam  O'Shanter  that 
he    should    not    associate    with    Cobbler 
Johnny.     Why,  he  loves  him  like  a  very 
brother !     Indeed,    as    the    last     sublime 
token  of  friendship,  have   they   not   been 
drunk  for  weeks  together  ?     Besides,  are 

they  not  such  worthless  wights   that   they   will    do 
[144] 


"Adieu,  valor  '  rust,  rapier  !  be  still,  drum  : 
For  your  manager  is  in  love  ;  yea,  he  loveth. 


COMPANIONS.  H5 

less  harm  in  associating  with  each  other  than  in  en- 
larging their  power  of  evil  by  operating  on  new 
material  ?  If  you  are  Tarn  O'Shanter,  I  cannot 
very  well  advise  you  to  seek  out  some  worthy  young 
man  for  an  associate  and  attaint  his  character  and  his 
reputation  by  clinging  to  him.  Now  the  only  thing 
I  can  consistently  do  is  to  hope  you  are  a  young  man 

FAR    REMOVED    FROM    TAM    O'SHANTER    IN    HABITS 

and  selfishness.  I  can  hope  that  you  are  a  young 
man  who,  in  going  on  a  fishing  excursion  with  some 
reputable  person  of  your  age,  will  not  cast  a  cloud  on 
the  mind  of  that  person's  employer,  and  cause  him  to 
fear  that  his  clerk  is  falling  instead  of  rising  in  self- 
esteem.  Let  my  hope  be  taken  as  an  enduring  fact. 
Now  I  feel  I  am  on  safe  ground.  You  are  building  a 
structure.  On  your  west  party -wall  your  neighbor  is 
also  erecting  one.  He  is  building  it  so  that  it  will 
fall  down— that  is  plain.  When  it  falls  it  will  involve 
you  in  its  ruins  because  the  middle  wall  supports  both 
edifices.  What  do  you  do  ?  You  go  to  the 
authorities,  and  they  make  him  take  down  his  house 
brick  by  brick.  In  this  way  the  law  surrounds  you 
with  its  beneficent  protection,  and  you  need  not  suffer 


1 46  COMPANIONS. 

from  the  faults  of  others.     But  alas  ! 

MORALLY, 

when  you  put  up  a  party-wall  you  must  abide  by  the 
conclusion.  If  your  companion  reflect  credit  on  you, 
then  you  are  doubly  strong,  but  if  he  pull  you  down} 
then  there  is  no  relief  and  little  sympathy.  Let  us 
suppose  that,  in  an  absolutely  evil  hour,  you  have 
learned  to  play  billiards.  A  brother-clerk  says : 
"Let  us  play  a  string  at  dinner-time  !"  Across 
your  mind  flits  the  bright  green  table,  the  beautiful 
ivory  balls,  the  wonderful  angle  which  you  discovered 
the  last  time  you  played,  and,  compared  with  the 
dull  routine  of  the  store,  you  momentarily  feel  that 

A    GAME    OF    BILLIARDS 

would  be  truly  beneficial.  So,  at  noon  you  go. 
There  never  was  a  game  of  billiards  that  would  end 
precisely  at  the  moment  you  should  leave  for  duty. 
There  never  were  two  employes  who  played  billiards 
who  did  not  eheat  their  employers  out  of  considerable 
time.  There  never  was  an  employer  who  would  not 
resent  this  injustke.  The  comrade  who  does  not 
play  billiards  will,  sooner  qr  later,  get  an  absolute 


COMPANIONS.  147 

advantage  over  you.  You  will  come  in,  complaining 
of  your  luck  only  to  find  that  your  slow-going 
comrade  has  "  got  something  "  which  you  have  missed. 
Employers  do  not  want  head-clerks  or  partners  who 
hang  around  billiard  saloons  or  livery  stables.  "  He 
who  comes  from  the  kitchen  smells  of  its  smoke." 
What  can  you  get  at  a  billiard  saloon  ?  You  can 
get  the  good  opinion  of  some  person  who  is  never 
civil  to  anybody.  His  incivility  has  a  charm  for 
your  young  mind.  You  naturally  imitate  him. 

YOU    TRY    IT    ON    A    CUSTOMER. 

He  says  :  "  Have  you  any  buttons  like  this  ?  "  showing 
one  about  fourteen  years  old.  You  look  at  him 
insolently  and  say  "  Nah  ! "  (meaning  "  No,  sir  "). 
This  makes  the  other  clerk  (who  plays  billiards  with 
you)  laugh  very  heartily,  but  it  makes  your  employer 
laugh  out  of  the  other  corner  of  his  mouth,  for  he  has 
no  business  to  keep  such  a  clerk,  and  the  customer 
knows  it.  The  customer  may  avenge  himself  by 
refusing  an  extension  on  a  note  which  he  holds,  and 
that  note,  possibly,  may  have  your  employer's  name 
on  it  !  The  mistake  you  make  in  this  particular  case 


148  COMPANIONS. 

is  in  applying  the  manners  of  a  billiard-saloon  to  the 
uses  of  a  place  of  business.  A  very  ordinary- 
looking-  old  man  was  one  day  standing  in  a  great 
bank  in  New  York  City.  He  was  talking  with 
a  friend,  and  the  friend  spoke  of  desiring  to  have  a 
draft  cashed  which  had  been  drawn  in  his  favor. 
Knowing  that  the  old  man  banked  at  that  place,  he 
asked  him  to  step  up  to  the  paying  teller  and  identify 
the  drawer  of  the  money.  This  the  old  man,  nat- 
urally, attempted  to  do.  He  said  :  "I  know  this 
gentleman  to  be  Alvin  H.  Hamilton.1'  The  paying 
teller  looked  at  the  old  man  and  judged  him  by  his 
clothes.  He  said  :  "  I  don't  know  you  at  all,  sir  ! 
Pass  along."  This  did  not  please  the  old  man.  He 
expostulated.  "  Pass  along ! "  yelled  the  teller, 
looking  ominously  toward  the  policeman,  who  edged 
toward  the  group. 

"I'LL  PASS  ALONG!" 

said  the  old  man,  hotly.  And  he  drew  a  blank  check, 
engraved  in  a  costly  manner,  from  his  pocket,  and 
wrote  on  the  "  please-pay  "  line,  "  Five  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars."  Then  he  signed  his  name  to 
it,  turned  it  over,  put  his  name  on  the  back  of  it,  and 


COMPANIONS;  149 

got  in  line  again.  By  the  time  he  was  at  the  window 
the  word  had  gone  along  the  line.  The  receiving 
teller,  the  collecting  clerk,  the  certifying  clerk  and  the 
examiners,  had  passed  the  news  to 

THE  CASHIER  AND  THE  PRESIDENT 

that  something  unusual  was  about  to  happen,  and 
those  magnates  had  rushed  to  the  paying  teller's  side. 
"Do  you  know  that  signature?"  said  the  old  man  with 
a  gleam  in  his  eye.  Now  it  was  the  teller's  turn  to 
feel  wretched.  "  Pay  five  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
— Babbit,  soap  man !  oh!  what  an  idiot  I  am!"  All 
this  went  through  his  head.  The  president,  the  cash- 
ier, abased  themselves  before  the  irate  old  man.  It 
was  all  a  mistake !  They  assured  him !  They  assured 
him!  Beg  pardon!  Impertinence  of  new  teller.  And 
a'  that,  and  a'  that.  But  it  would  not  do!  The  mon- 
ey went  to  another  bank,  and  a  business  worth  thous- 
ands of  dollars  annually  was  lost,  together  with  the 
natural  prestige  of  such  patronage.  There  was  what 
I  should  call 

A  CASE  OF  BILLIARD-ROOM  MANNERS, 

and  a  costly  one.     Drop  that  style.     Says  Bishop 


150  COMPANIONS. 

Home:  "It  is  expedient  to  have  an  acquaintance 
with  those  who  have  looked  into  the  world;  who 
know  men,  understand  business,  and  can  give  you 
good  intelligence  and  good  advice  when  they  are  want- 
ed." "  He  that  walketh  with  wise  men  "  says  the 
Bible,  shall  be  wise ;  but  a  companion  of  fools  shall  be 
destroyed."  Try  to  frequent  the  company  of  your 
betters.  Good  books  are  safe  companions.  Good 
men,  a  little  older  than  yourself,  are  still  better.  Per- 
haps good  women,  who  take  an  interest  in  young  men, 
are  better  than  all  others,  for  they  are  more  unselfish, 
and  often  have  a  spare  thought  for  the  young  man 
that  makes  his  life  happier. 

LEARN  TO  ADMIRE  RIGHTLY. 

The  leer  of  the  man  who  has  sold  lemonade  in  a  cir- 
cus has  a  strange  charm  for  a  young  man.  It  has  a 
strange  repulsiveness  for  the  "  solid  man"  of  business. 
The  look  of  a  man  with  a  cigar  put  in  his  mouth  at 
a  sharp  upward  angle  and  with  a  hat  lurched  like  the 
cargo  of  a  bad  sailer,  has  a  strong  fascination  for  a 
young  man.  It  is  a  strong  irritant  to  the  man  whose 
companionship  is  an  honor.  You  cannot  do  better 
than  to  frequent  some  church,  rent  a  sitting,  and  have 


COMPANIONS. 

a  positive  engagement  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
You  are  a  great  gainer  by  this.  It  may  cost  you  a 
little;  but  you  will  get  all  that  back  in  moral  capital — 
just  as  valuable  in  business  as  money.  Says  George 
Washington :  "  The  company  in  which  you  will  im- 
prove most  will  be  least  expensive  to  you."  In  your, 
church  you  will  meet  men  who  do  not  live  all  for 
themselves,  as  does  the  dominant  mind  in  the  bar- 
room. Their  drill  and  discipline  have  made  them  more 
unselfish.  They  will  help  you  in  many  ways.  They 
will  throw  a  rope  to  you  and  pull  you  aboard.  Soon- 
er or  later  your  association  with  them  will  get  you 
position,  respect,  family,  happiness,  success,  and 
above  all,  that  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding. 
Do  not  take  this  as  preaching.  It  is  as  practical  as 
anything  in  this  book.  Chesterfield  says :  "  No  man 
can  possibly  improve  in  any  company  for  which  he 
has  not  respect  enough  to  be  under  some  degree  of 
restraint. "  What  makes  mankind  revere  Shakspeare  ? 
Because  he  said  fine  things?  No.  But  because  he 
said  true  things.  Listen  to  him:  "  It  is  certain  that 
either  wise  bearing  or  ignorant  carriage  is  caught,  as 
men  take  diseases  of  one  another." 


Conference  maketh  a  ready  man. — LORI>  BACON. 

Now  stirs  the  lated  traveler  apace 

To  gain  the  timely  inn. — MACBETH,  ACT  III.,  Sc.  3. 


HAT  is  there  about  going  to  a 
strange  town  on  business  which 
should  make  a  man's  heart  feel 
like  a  cold  biscuit  inside  of  him  ? 
A  young  man  may  have  been  to 
a  certain  village  on  endless  ex- 
cursions of  pleasure,  when  his  pulse  beat  as 
gloriously  as  the  bass  drum  on  a  grand  circus- 
entry  into  town,  yet  when  he  has  to  go  to 
the  depot  to  take  the  cars  for  that  same  town 
to  sell  goods  there  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  it  is  harder  to  carry  his  heart  to  the 
train  than  it  is  to  lug  his  grip-sacks.  When  you  feel 
that  way,  do  not  feel  ashamed.  All  the  "  old  heads  '' 
on  the  road  have  been  in  that  predicament.  Talk  to 
your  heart  the  way  you  think  about  a  mother  when 

she  mourns  for  her  child.     You  say     "  Let  her  feel 
[152] 


ON  THE  ROAt).  153 

bad.  It's  natural.  It'll  do  her  good."  Now  when 
your  home  begins  to  drop  out  of  sight  behind,  and 
the  conductor  comes  along  to  punch  your  ticket  rather 
than  to  comfort  you,  say  to  your  heart  "  Go  it,  you 
you  old  ninnyhammer !  It's  natural  for  you  to 
thump,  but  you  can't  interfere  with  business,  you 
know  ! "  Your  mind  is  all  right.  It's  your  body. 
Now,  while 

YOU  ARE  NEARING  THAT  FATAL  TOWN, 

you  look  back  over  the  goods  in  the  store.  Of  course, 
you  are  positively  familiar  with  everything  in  stock. 
You  came  out  on  the  road  either  because  you  asked 
to  go,  or  because  other  folks  had  espied  a  faculty  of 
persuasion  in  you  which  they  thought  would  sell 
goods.  Sometimes  a  man  looks  persuasively, 
sometimes  he  talks  persuasively  ;  sometimes  he  both 
looks  and  talks  it.  This  is  after  he  has  had  practice. 
"Iron  sharpeneth  iron.  So  a  man  sharpeneth  the 
countenance  of  his  friend."  Now  this  town  you  are 
going  to  is  a  band  of  enemies.  How  can  you  make 
a  conquest  ?  By  doing  as  Napoleon  did.  Set  your 
own  time  for  the  fight,  pitch  upon  one  man  at  a  time, 
always  pick  out  one  not  used  to  your  mode  of  warfare, 


t$4  ON  THE  ROAD. 

and  then  clean  him  out  before  he  thinks  the  action 
has  begun.  "Formerly,1'  says  Bovee,  naively, 
"  when  great  fortunes  were  only  made  in  war,  war 
was  business ;  but  now,  when  great  fortunes  are 
only  made  by  business,  business  is  war." 

HERE   IS    THE    TOWN   NOW. 

How  dirty  those  houses  look  !  O,  yes,  they  are  the 
habitations  of  the  poor.  You  know  the  hotel  you  are 
going  to,  of  course.  You  know  where  it  is.  Now 
you  grab  your  valises,  your  overcoat  is  on,  and  you 
climb  down.  Want  a  'bus  ?  It's  only  fifty  cents  for 
a  ride  of  a  block  and  a  half !  Well,  you  will  get 
along  without  it.  The  labor  will  get  your  blood 
going.  You  have  thus  made  a  sale  already,  equal  to 
two  dollars.  Put  that  down  to  your  credit.  By 
this  time,  although  you  are  among  the  Philistines, 
you  are  yourself  again.  You  go  into  the  wash-room 
of  the  hotel,  enter  the  dining-room,  eat  a  very  poor 
meal,  and  get  up  to  begin  the  fight.  Now  sit  down 
a  half-hour  and  let  your  food  get  started  in  your 
stomach. 

GETTING   YOUR   MIND. 

Does  not  the  General  spread  his  maps  before  him  ? 


ON  THE  ROAD.  155 

You  probably  have  a  certain  firm  in  your  mind,  either 
by  chance  or  direction  from  your  employer.  This, 
of  course,  is  the  weak  point  in  the  enemy's  lines. 
Here  he  has  trusted  to  the  ground  as  it  looked  from 
his  side  of  the  field,  when,  in  reality,  it  presented  few 
difficulties  from  yours.  Some  experience  in  the  world 
has  led  me  to  believe  that  if  a  salesman  has  come  to 
the  opinion,  even  in  the  most  absurd  manner,  that  he 
can  sell  a  certain  man  goods,  he  can  do  it,  almost 
beyond  the  chance  of  a  doubt.  I  once  knew  a 
successful  solicitor  who  seemed  to  do  all  his  work  at 
his  desk.  He  would  sit  in  the  greatest  gloom 

CANVASSING    HIMSELF  ! 

That  was  a  fact.  He  was  really  revolving  the  weak 
places  of  the  enemy  in  his  mind.  Suddenly  he  would 
start  up,  seize  his  paraphernalia,  make  his  expedition, 
and  return  rich-laden.  This  taught  me  the  wonderful 
power  of  persuasion  when  directed  in  exactly  the  right 
way.  One  of  the  first  things  to  forget  is  yourself. 
I  think  possibly  the  finding  in  your  mind  of  a  man 
to  whom  you  can  sell  goods  depends  principally  upon 
your  belief  that  when  you  make  your  dash  on  him 
you  forget  what  he  will  think  of  you.  You  have  the 


156  ON  THE  ROAD, 

willingness  to  sacrifice  all  that  to  the  one  object  before 
you.  In  the  possible  places  of  attack  which  you 
reject,  you  are  not  yet  willing  to  make  that  sacrifice. 
You  know 

ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 

was  a  great  man.  Why  ?  Well,  here  is  one  reason. 
The  little  men  came  to  him  one  day  with  horror 
spread  upon  their  narrow  features.  Said  they  :  "  O, 
Mr.  Lincoln,  we  have  just  discovered  that  Grant 
drinks  whisky.  We  have  come  to  ask  you  to  put  a 
Temperance  General  in  control  of  the  more  important 
of  his  actions.  He  has  the  lives  of  our  children  and 
our  friends  in  his  handPs.  Save  us  from  his  liability 
to  plunge  us  all  in  general  blood  !  "  Now  this  was 
after  Vicksburg.  Mr.  Lincoln  took  an  interest  in 
this  revelation  that  elated  the  petitioners.  "You  are 
quite  sure  he  drinks  whisky,  are  you  ?  "  "  O,  yes. 

HE    WAS    DRUNK    AT    SHILOH." 

"Well,  will  you  not  try  hard  to  find  out  where  he 
gets  his  whisky  ?"  said  Old  Abe  ;  "I  want  some  of 
it  for  my  other  generals  ! " 

This  man  Abraham  Lincoln  wanted  to  put  down 


ON  THE  ROAD.  1 57 

the  Rebellion  for  the  sake  of  both  the  North  and  the 
South.  Anything  that  would  contribute  to  that  end 
was  what  he  wanted  in  large  quantities. 

YOU    ARE    DRESSED 

as  you  have  always  dressed — with  easy-fitting  business 
garments.  Absolutely  nothing  on  your  person  gives 
offense,  either  in  newness  or  pldness.  You  enter  the 
store  to  whose  proprietor  you  intend  to  sell  goods. 
If  you  know  him  and  he  is  busy,  you  nod  and  avoid  a 
talk.  This  is  both  difficult  and  unlucky.  If  he  is  at 
your  service,  you  state  that  you  have  come  to  show 
him  your  samples.  You  do  not  hope  he  needs 
anything  at  the  start.  Of  course,  he  needs  nothing. 
That  does  not  enter  into  the  question.  He  will  buy 
at  the  end.  You  now,  if  your  samples  are  with  you, 
pick  out  some  medium  bargains.  Reserve  your 
powerful  arguments.  Try  to  make  him  understand 
the  true  value  of  these  goods.  Nothing  under  the 
sun  is  so  powerful  as  example.  Now,  to  furnish  ex- 
amples, you  must  state  who  sells  this  particular  line 
of  goods.  Mention  the  names  with  all  precision 
volubility  and  confidence  in  the  world.  He  may 
evince  no  interest,  but  it  has  moved  him  greatly  to 


158  ON  THE  ROAD. 

hear  all  those  names  !  Now  he  begins  to  talk  prices 
to  you.  The  chances  are  that  he  is  "  drawing  the 
long  bow  " — that  is,  that  he  is  putting  the  prices  at 
which  he  buys  full  low  enough  !  Do  not  dispute  him. 
Never  argue  with  him.  Accept  all  he  says  as  gospel. 
Very  soon  he  will  be  on  the  other  tack.  You  will  be 
talking,  and  you  can  judge  whether  he  has  told  the 
truth  or  not.  Now  you  are  both  on  excellent  terms. 
He  thinks  you  are  a  very  decent  young  fellow. 

BRING  ON  YOUR  "  LEADERS." 

You  ought  to  have  some  little  line  that  you  are  sell- 
ing for  less  than  it  is  worth.  Give  him  the  solemn 
privilege  of  getting  some  of  it.  He  wavers,  he  is 
lost.  This  is  the  entering  wedge.  If  he  is  sharp 
enough  to  buy  only  "  leaders,"  he  is  too  sharp  for  you, 
and  for  your  house.  Ten  chances  to  one  he  would 
never  pay  anyway.  You  must  have  picked  out  a 
poor  man  to  start  on.  But  if  you  have  an  ordinary 
gentlemanly  man  of  business,  he  will  take  some  goods 
of  you.  Canvass  him  for  everything.  Do  not  neg- 
lect your  work  now  it  has  come.  He  is  wavering 
everywhere.  He  is  contradicting  by  his  acts  nearly 
every  assertion  he  made  behind  his  entrenchments, 


ON  THE  ROAD.  159 

Never  mind  that.  Do  not  leave  him  until  there  is 
"no  more  buy  in  him."  Now,  after  you  have  all  the 
items — and 

NEVER  STOP  HIM 

when  he  is  giving  them — sum  them  up,  read  them 
over,  take  his  name  (firm  name),  his  post-office  (not 
his  railroad  station),  his  railroad  station,  his  express 
company,  his  railroad,  absolutely  everything.  Make 
his  name  "  Owens,"  not  "  Owen,"  "Ransom's  Sons  " 
not  Ransom  &  Sons,  "  Smythe  "  not  "  Smith,"  if  that 
be  the  way  he  puts  it.  A  man  is  very  tender  about 
his  name.  Never  forget  that.  Impress  those  things 
on  your  shipping-clerk  at  home.  Tell  him  you  have 
sold  Edwards  Pierrepont  a  bill  of  goods,  and  that  this 
particular  buyer  has 

A    PRIVATE   GRAVEYARD 

for  shipping-clerks  who  mark  it  "  Edward."  You 
have  already  consulted  your  commercial  "  testament " 
to  see  if  the  firm  will  pay.  If  the  biH  be  too  large  for 
the  credit  allowed  in  the  "  testament,"  telegraph  to 
your  firm  about  it  and  get  instructions.  Of  course, 
you  cannot  have  mistaken  prices  or  sold  below  the 
necessary  profit.  A  firrn  in  Boston  started  out  a  con- 


l6o  ON  THE  ROAD. 

fident  young  man,  and  he  sold  tremendous  bills  of 
goods.  He  took  no  account  of  the  value  of  the  goods* 
freight,  or  time  of  payment.  All  those  merchants 
who  had  friends  on  his  "  beat  "  telegraphed  to  them 
to  be  sure  and  give  him  an  order.  He  was  the  rage. 
There  was  also  some  Vage  at  Boston  when  the  orders 
began  coming  in.  They  telegraphed  to  Madison 

TO    HEAD    HIM    OFF, 

but  he  had  "taken  a  shoot"  to  Rockford.  They 
telegraphed  to  Dubuque,  but  he  had  doubled  down 
toward  Galesburg.  They  telegraphed  to  Galesburg 
but  he  had  escaped  into  Iowa.  Finally  they  sent,  to 
every  town  on  three  parallel  lines  of  railroad  in  lowa^ 
a  postal  card  with  "  Come  Home  !"  covering  one  side 
of  it,  and  captured  him  somewhere  about  the  middle 
of  the  State,  also  in  the  middle  of  the  greatest  of  all 
his  campaigns.  The  firm  settled  his  expenses,  but  re- 
fused to  deliver  the  goods,  and  hired  an  extra  lawyer 
or  two  to  contest 

THE    LARGE    CROP    OF    LEGAL    SUITS 

which  brought  up  the  rear  of  his  triumph,  like  the 
tail  of  a  gorgeous  cornet.  This  young  man  was  pe- 
culiar. I  only  mention  his  flight  through  the  western 


ON  THE  ROAD.  l'6i 

commercial  sky  to  make  you  smile  when  you  think  of 
it  and  lighten  your  heart,  when  this  remembrance 
comes  in  a  lonesome  hour.  If  you  are  unacquainted 
with  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  are  to  sell,  use  your 
habitual  salutation.  A  majority  of  successful  men  say 
"  How  are  you,  sir?11  You  have  your  card  right  side 
up,  close  to  his  hand.  You  say:  "My  name  is  Ben- 
nington — I  am  from  Chicago — Remington  &  Com- 
pany — let  me  talk  to  you  a  little  about  some  of  our 
goods."  You  have  accompanied  some  such  speech  as 
this  by  an  expeditious  display  of  your  samples.  If  your 
choice  of  attack  was  sound,  he  is  already  looking  at 
your  goods.  . 

THE    BOARD    AT    THE    HOTEL 

has  greatly  improved  this  evening,  so  you  will  find. 
Make  up  your  mind  that  when  a  man  does  not  ac- 
cord you  a  fair  hearing  you  have  erred  in  your  ap- 
proach. There  are  some  men  who  have  to  be  ap- 
proached through  a  personal  introduction.  If  you 
take  advantage  of  the  chances  that  come  in  your  way, 
you  can  afford  to  accept  the  misfortunes  which  befall 
you,  for  it  is  a  real  misfortune  to  attack  a  cold,  hard- 
surfaced  man  in  his  moment  of  strength  and  get  a  full 


1 62  ON  THE  ROAD. 

broadside  from  his  guns.  Go  in  force  against  such 
men.  Two  men  would  have  him  at  a  disadvantage. 

IN    CONCLUSION, 

Do  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  home.  Have  books 
with  you.  Shun  traveling  men,  as  they  cannot  bene- 
fit you.  The  desire  to  have  company  often  makes  a 
man  "lose  a  town."  It  often  keeps  him  up  nights. 
What  is  the  reason  you  dread  the  attack  ?  Because  you 
have  no  electricity  in  you .  You  have  not  slept  enough . 
Have  you  not  often  felt  you  could  walk  ten  miles  as 
easily  as  one?  That  was  just  the  moment  to  "fall  up 
against  "  the  hard-surfaced  man.  Have  you  not  often 
felt  you  would  like  to  be  in  the  little  white  cottage, 
reading  what  a  wonderful  place  New  York  is?  Just 
then  you  ought  to  be  in  bed, 

MANUFACTURING   SNAP    AND    SPARKLE. 

In  all  your  expedition,  judgment  has  been  at  work. 
Judgment  sent  you  out,  and  judgment  pointed  out 
your  attack.  You  therefore  have  sold  goods  to  re- 
sponsible people,  and  your  firm  are  delighted.  You 
now  have  the  most  powerful  lines  of  money-making 
in  the  world  right  in  your  hands.  You  are  the  man 
who  can  "place  the  goods."  You  are  practically  a 


ON  THE  ROAD.  163 

partner.  If  you  have  perfected  yourself  in  your  art, 
and  if  you  are  not  in  business  for  yourself,  it  is  because 
you  do  not  want  it  so  to  be. 


Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

\Ve  may  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us, 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time. — LONGFELLOW. 

T  is  hard  to  follow  in  the  tracks  oi 
giants,  but  nevertheless  the  sands 
of  our  time  are  filled  with  that 
kind  of  footprints.  The  present 
century  has  beholden  some  of  the 
most  astonishing  elevations  of  all 
history.  Slaves  have  become  Roman 
Emperors,  but  we  hardly  know  what 
"  slave  "  meant  in  those  days.  Within  the 
last  hundred  years  we  see  a  poor  old  dame 
with  three  sons  called  Joseph,  Napoleon 
and  Jerome.  We  see  a  cooper's  son  called 
Michel  Ney,  an  inn-keeper's  son  called 
Joaquin  Murat,  a  lawyer's  son  named  Jean  Bernadotte, 
a  military  cadet  named  Louis  Davout,  and  a  lame 
boy  called  Charles  Talleyrand.  Behold  them 
mounting  the  ladder  until,  at  the  end  of  thirty  years, 
the  roster  stands  thus  ;  Joseph  Bonaparte,  King  of 

[164] 


EXAMPLES.  165 

Spain ;  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  greatest  warrior  of 
modern  times  and  Emperor  of  France,  which  meant 
dictator  of  I^urope ;  Jerome  Bonaparte,  King  of 
Westphalia  ;  Michel  Ney,  Prince  of  the  Moskwa  and 
Bravest  of  the  Brave  ;  JoaquinMurat,  King  of  Naples  ; 
Jean  Bernadotte,  King  of  Sweden,  and  founder  of  the 
present  dynasty  ;  Louis  Davout,  Prince  of  Eckmuhl, 
and,  in  1811, 

COMMANDER  OF  NEARLY  6oO,OOO  MEN  J 

Charles  Talleyrand,  Prince  of  Benevento,  and  perhaps 
the  greatest  diplomat  in  history.  We  have  Ben 
Franklin  learning  to  ink  type  in  his  youth  and  in  his 
maturity  teaching  the  world  how  to  subdue  our  favorite 
slave,  the  lightning.  We  have  Daniel  Webster 
ploughing  on  a  farm  and  afterward  delighting  two 
worlds^with  the  magic  of  his  voice.  We  see  John 
Jacob  Astor  arrive  in  America  scarcely  able  to  speak 
English,  and  die  in  1848  worth  more  than  any  other 
man  in  America  at  that  time.  We  see  George 
Peabody  at  work  in  a  grocery  at  Danvers.'  Years 
afterward,  as  a  London  banker,  we  chronicle  his 
charities,  almost  fabulous  in  their  extent :  To 
Danvers,  Mass.,  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 


1 66  EXAMPLES. 

dollars ;  to  the  Baltimore  Institute,  one  million  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars ;  to  the  poor  of  London, 
two  million  five  hundred  thousand  dollars ;  to  the 
southern  negroes,  three  million  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars  ;  to  eight  institutions,  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  ;  to  his  relatives,  five  million  dollars  ; 
We  see  A.  T.  Stewart  hard  pressed  for  a  dollar,  and 
we  find  him  worth  thirty  millions  when  he  dies.  We 
watch 

THE    WIFE    OF    ANDREW  JOHNSON 

teaching  him  the  alphabet,  and  we  listen  to  his 
proclamations  as  President  of  the  United  States.  We 
tell  Abraham  Lincoln  where  he  can  borrow  a  book 
that  will  benefit  him,  and  we  pass  by  his  great  dust 
in  numbers  almost  like  the  stars  in  heaven.  We  see 
Phineas  T.  Barnum  first  humbugging  the  people  with 
a  lemonade-stand  worth  all  told  two  dollars,  and  we 
next  see  him  humbugging  the  people  with  the  greatest 
show  on  earth,  worth  a  million.  We  lend  Leland 
Stanford  a  quarter  and  he  next  buys  up  three  or 
four  high-priced  legislatures  and  defies  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  to  prevent  him  levying  a  tax  on 


EXAMPLES.  167 

"  his  people  "  of  a  million  dollars  with  a  stroke  of  his 
pen.  We  see 

ULYSSES   S.    GRANT 

working  by  the  day  in  a  tanyard,  and  then  receiving 
the  sword  of  a  warrior  whose  name  will  also  echo  far 
out  into  the  "  corridors  of  time,"  and  then  again 
accepting  as  the  representative  of  America,  the 
pent-up  admiration  of  the  Old  World  for  the  New. 
We  see  Jay  Gould  investing  a  thousand  dollars  in  a 
country  store  and  then  in  turn  dictating  to  all  the 
railroads  and  controlling  all  the  telegraphs  in  the 
greatest  empire  that  has  ever  existed.  We  watch 
Cornelius  Vanderbilt,  Sr.,  begin  as  a  poor  lad,  save, 
build,  command,  and  die,  leaving  to  his  favorite  son 

EIGHTY    MILLIONS    OF    DOLLARS  ! 

We  see  that  son,  beginning  on  that  paltry  patrimony, 
already  the  possessor,  in  a  few  short  years,  of  seventy 
millions  in  addition.  We  help  Elihu  Burritt  to  say 
his  letters  at  noon-time  in  a  blacksmith  shop,  and 
afterward,  lo  !  he  converses  in  thirty  languages. 
We  see  Edgar  Poe,  dying  as  poor  as  man  ever  died, 
yet  leaving  to  the  world  a  name  as  a  writer  that 
Europeans  persist  is  as  yet  the  brightest  in  American 


1 68  EXAMPLES. 

literature.  See  Horace  Greeley,  trudging  across  a 
State,  anxious  to  get  a  job  for  his  board  and  clothes ; 
then  listen  to  his  voice  in  the  councils  of  the  President 
and  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Remember  Salmon 
P.  Chase,  a  poor  Ohio  boy,  Governor,  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury,  author  of  the  best  currency  system  so 
far  conceived,  and  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court. 

JAMES    A.    GARFIELD 

is  now  at  work  driving  a  canal-boat,  now 
Republican  leader  of  the  House,  now  Senator,  now 
President,  and  now  the  object  of  a  weeping  world's 
affection.  See  the  poor  boy  Sherman,  born  in  Lan- 
caster, O.  A  short  space  flies  past  us,  and  he  has 
cut  his  own  communications  and  marched  with  his 
army  into  the  enemy's  country.  The  London 
Times  says  if  he  emerges  from  the  unknown 
country  with  his  army,  he  will  be  "  the  greatest 
captain  of  modern  times."  Soon  his  banners  float 
on  the  coast,  soon  the  cities  are  blazing  behind  his 
fearful  stride,  and  soon  the  cruel  war  is  over.  We 
behold  the  third  son  of  a  very  large  family  of 

TENNYSONS 

begin  writing  verses.     He  writes  trash  at  first,  but 


EXAMPLES.  169 

by  and  by  he  is  proclaimed  the  greatest  living  poet, 
and  his  art  of  writing  (all  that  part  of  his  work  which 
was  difficult)  is  pronounced  the  greatest  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  We  see  the  boy  Lee,  studying"hard 
to  sustain  the  illustrious  name  he  bore,  advancing  in 
science  to  the  great  study  of  astronomy,  becoming 
the  intellectual  credit  of  his  surroundings,  the  tutor  of 
the  scholarly.  We  behold  him  clasping  the  sword 
put  in  his  hands  by  the  greatest  unsuccessful  in- 
surrection of  all  past  time,  and,  seated  on  his  horse, 
smiling  at  the  awful  repulse  of 

PICKETT'S  IMMORTAL  CHARGE  AT  GETTYSBURG, 
saying,  simply:  "We  cannot  always  expect  to  have 
our  own  way  in  an  attack,"  when  down  in  his  great 
heart  he  knows  that  the  proudest  people  ever  defeated 
have  cast  the  final  die,  and  lost.  We  stand  over  his 
ashes  and  feel  that  they  are  the  ashes  of  a  truly  great 
man  whom  "unmerciful  disaster  followed  fast  and  fol- 
lowed faster."  We  see  James  Gordon  Bennett,  the  jibe 
of  all  the  printers  because  of  his  crooked  eyes.  Yet 
he  dies  the  owner  of  the  greatest  money-making 
newspaper  of  all  newspaper  history,  a  journal  which 
sends  expeditions  to  Africa  and  squadrons  to  the  north 


170 


EXAMPLES. 


pole.  We  see  a  "canny"  Scotch  boy  at  study.  He 
"takes  wonderfully  to  German,"  and  soon  the  English 
world  is  hailing  him  as  the  "  literary  Columbus."  He 
has  shown  them  the  greatness  of  Frederick,  of  Schiller, 
and  Goethe.  He  writes  a  history  of  the  French  Rev- 
olution, and  calls  it  the  "  truth  clad  in  hell-fire."  He 
reads  a  library  in  a  few  hours,  or,  rather,  he  reads 
what  he  has  not  read — and  finally  he  lies  down,  hating 
the  world,  hating  freedom,  but  full  of  genius,  and 
men  say  "Carlyle  is  dead." 

A    BOY    CALLED    VICTOR    HUGO 

is  born  in  France.  At  thirty  he  is  famous.  Then 
tor  fifty  years  he  wields  an  influence  through  the  lit- 
eratures of  all  nations  second  only  to  Shakspeare's. 
We  see  the  sailor-boy  Garibaldi,  the  commander-in- 
chief  and  savior  of  Uruguay  in  South  America,  the 
idol  and  king-maker  of  Italy,  and  the  stern  patriot 
without  rank  or  gew-gaw  on 

THE    ROCK    OF    CAPRI, 

a  joining  of  the  characters  of  such  men  as  Socrates 
and  Washington.  We  see  Disraeli,  a  poor  boy  and 
we  see  Disraeli  more  powerful  than  any  other  man  on 
earth.  We  look  at  Gladstone  as  a  boy  starting  in 


EXAMPLES. 


life,  determined  to  be  a  scholar.  We  hear  his  glori- 
ous voice,  we  read  his  books,  we  study  the  laws  he 
has  framed,  we  watch  the  empire  he  governs,  and  we 
feel  he  succeeded  in  his  boyish  ambition.  Every- 
where —  in  the  lives  of  Agassiz,  Humboldt,  Proctor, 
Seward,  Farragut,  Nelson,  Abercrombie,  Joseph  E. 
Johnston,  Longstreet,  Stanton,  Aspinwall,  Lorillard, 
Ayer,  Helmbold,  Scott,  Garrett,  Ralston,  Garner, 
Watson,  Howe,  Singer,  Steinway,  McCormick,  Morse, 
Edison,  Bell,  Gray,  Applegarth,  Hoe,  Thomas,  Wag- 
ner, Verdi,  Jurgensen,  Picard,  Stephenson,  Fulton, 
Rumsey,  Fitch,  Lamb,  Fairbanks,  Corliss,  Dahlgren, 
Parrot,  Armstrong,  Gatling,  Pullman,  Alden,  Cromp- 
ton,  Faber,  Remington,  Sharp,  Colt,  Daguerre,  Bess- 
emer, Goodyear,  Yale,  Keene,  Gould,  Villard,  —  and 

IN  THE  LIVES  OF  THE  THOUSANDS 

which  my  limits  exclude  me  from  mentioning,  there  is 
the  example  of  the  hard  worker,  the  promise  of  re- 
sults that  will  follow  a  well-directed  effort.  "  In  order 
to  do  great  things,  it  is  necessary  to  live  as  if  one  was 
never  to  die  "  —  that  is,  pay  attention  only  to  the  ob- 
ject aimed  at.  I  remember  a  man  of  success  who 
meant  to  break  up  housekeeping  and  go  to  Europe  on 


172  EXAMPLES. 

a  matter  of  business.  This  was  the  first  of  January." 
The  fact  that  the  weather  suddenly  turned  cold  to  the 
extent  of  thirty  degrees  below  zero  did  not  seem  to 
attract  his  attention.  He  was  absent-minded  on  that 
question !  When  it  came  to  going  out  to  hire  an  ex- 
pressman to  haul  his  effects  to  a  storehouse  he  found 
no  one  would  venture  out  with  his  horse  until  the 
thermometer  should  rise,  and  his  astonishment  knew 
no  bounds!  He  had  been 

SO  IN  THE  HABIT  OF  RIDING  OVER  OBSTACLES 

that  his  distress  was  very  noticeable  when  he  was 
compelled  to  wait  in  idleness  for  three  days.  Never 
allow  obstacles  to  stop  you.  When  the  waters  meet 
an  obstacle  they  run  around  it.  So  do  the  ants. 
Read  the  lives  of  successful  men.  Watch  successful 
men.  "We  are  less  convinced  by  what  we  hear 
than  what  we  see,"  said  Herodotus  thousands  of  years 
ago.  Said  Seneca,  nineteen  hundred  years  ago: 
"  Men  trust  rather  to  their  eyes  than  to  their  ears;  the 
effect  of  precepts,  is,  therefore,  slow  and  tedious,  while 
that  of  example  is  summary  and  effectual."  Says 
Franklin:  "  None  teaches  better  than  the  ant,  and 
she  says  nothing."  "  Not  the  cry  "  say  the  Chinese, 


EXAMPLL-b. 


'73 


"  but  the  flight  of  the  wild  duck,  leads  the  flock  to  fly 
and  follow." 

"  CHRIST    NEVER   WROTE    A    TRACT," 

says  Horace  Mann.  "  The  people  look  at  their  pastor 
six  days  in  the  week,"  says  Cecil,  "to  see  what  he 
means  on  the  seventh."  Says  Dr.  Johnson:  •"  Those 
who  attain  any  excellence  commonly  spend  life  in  one 
common  pursuit;  for  excellence  is  not  often  gained 
upon  easier  grounds,"  and  the  examples  of  a  majority 
of  the  successful  men  will  show  this  to  be  true.  It 
seeems  to  me,  in  conclusion,  that 

LIFE    IS    LIKE    THE    SYSTEM 

upon  which  gamblers  often  stake  their  money.  If 
they  lose  one,  they  stake  two;  if  they  lose,  they  stake, 
four;  if  they  lose,  they  stake  eight;  if  they  still  lose 
they  stake  sixteen;  now  if  they  win,  they  have,  of 
course,  won  one  more  than  they  have  lost  altogether. 
The  banker  guards  against  this  system  by  limiting 
their  progression  to  a  certain  figure  and  thus  break- 
ing it  down.  But  in  the  game  of  life  we  have  no 
limit  put  upon  our  enterprises.  We  may  redouble  our 
efforts  after  every  failure,  and  we  find,  upon  the  first 
success,  that  we  have,  in  one  stroke  of  prosperity, 


174  EXAMPLES.       ' 

more  than  made  ourselves  whole  for  failures  which 
may  have  extended  behind  us  indefinitely.  You  can- 
not fail  in  life  if  you  will  stake  an  effort  on  each  suc- 
ceeding attempt  twice  as  great  as  the  effort  which  lost 
you  your  last  desire. 


A  combination  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man. 

His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 

So  mixed  in  him,  that  nature  might  stand  up 

And  say  to  all  the  world  "  This  was  a  man  !  " — SHAKSPEARE. 


HAT  a  piece  of  w©rke  is  a  man  ? 
How  Noble  in  Reason?  how 
infinite  in  faculty  ?  in  forme  and 
mouing  how  expresse  and  ad- 
mirable ?  in  Action  how  like  an 
Angel  ?  in  apprehension  how  like 
a  God  ?  the  beauty  of  the  world,  the  Paragon 
of  Animals  ?  "  This  is  the  exalted  panegyric 
of  the  greatest  mind  so  far  vouchsafed  to 
our  race — this,  then,  was  Shakspeare's  ideal 
of  a  true  man.  Says  Emerson  :  "  O  rich  and 
various  man  !  thou  palace  of  sight  and  sound, 
carrying  in  thy  senses  the  morning  and  the  night,  and 
the  unfathomable  galaxy ;  in  thy  brain  the 
geometry  of  the  city  of  God  ;  in  thy  heart  the  power 


176  MAN. 

of  love  and  the  realms  of  right  and  wrong."  "Man 
was  sent  into  the  world  to  be  a  growing  and 
exhaustless  force,"  says  Chapin  ;  "the  world  was 
spread  out  around  him  to  be  seized  and  conquered. 
Realms  of  infinite  truth  burst  open  above  him, 
inviting  him  to  to  tread  those  shining  coasts  along 
which  Newton  dropped  his  plummet,  and  Herschel 
sailed, 

A    COLUMBUS    OF    THE    SKIES." 

"Man,"  says  Carlyle,  "has  reflected  his  two-fold 
nature  in  history.  '  He  is  of  earth,'  but  his  thoughts 
are  with  the  stars.  Mean  and  petty  his  wants  and 
his  desires  ;  yet  they  serve  a  soul  exalted  with  grand, 
glorious  aims,  with  immortal  longings,  with  thoughts 
which  sweep  the  heavens  and  *  wander  through 
eternity.'  A  pigmy  standing  on  the  outward  crust 
of  this  small  planet,  his  far-reaching  spirit  stretches 
outward  to  the  infinite,  and  there  finds  rest."  Then 
turning  to  the  combined  effects  of  individual  lives, 
the  same  great  writer  says  :  "  History  is  a  reflex  of 
this  double  life.  Every  epoch  has  two  aspects — one 
calm,  broad  and  solemn — looking  towards  eternity  ; 
the  other  agitated,  petty,  vehement,  and  confused^ 


MAN.  177 

looking  towards  time."  "Man,"  says  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  one  of  the  greatest  of  true  philosophers, 
44  is  not  an  organism  :  he  is  an  intelligence,  served  by 
organs."  Says  Whately  :  "The  heavens  do  indeed 
4  declare  the  glory  of  God,1  and  the  human  body  is 
4  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made  ;'  but  man,  considered, 
not  merely  as  an  organized  being,  but  as  a  rational 
agent,  and  as  a  member  of  society,  is  perhaps  the 
most  wonderfully  contrived,  and  to  us  the  most 
interesting,  specimen  of  divine  wisdom  that  we  have 
any  knowledge  of." 

MAN'S  FAULTS. 

So  much  in  compliment  of  mankind.  Now  this 
same  marvelous  creature,  man,  has  a  critical  spirit. 
He  is  endued  with  a  quality  of  progression.  The 
motive  power  in  this  progression  is  dissatisfaction. 
Let  us  listen  to  the  sages  when  they  drop  eulogy  and 
become  out  of  conceit  with  themselves. 

44  MAN    IS   IMPROVABLE," 

says  Horace  Mann.  "  Some  think  he  is  only  a  machine, 
and  that  the  only  difference  between  a  man  and  a 
mill  is,  that  one  is  carried  by  blood  and  the  other  by 
water."  Says  Pascal:  "What  a  chimera  is  man! 


178  MAN. 

what  a  singular  phenomenon  !  what  a  chaos  !  what 
a  scene  of  contrariety  !  A  judge  of  all  things  yet  a 
feeble  worm  ;  the  shrine  of  truth,  yet  a  mass  of  doubt 
and  uncertainty  ;  at  once  the  glory  and  the  scorn  of 
the  universe.  If  he  boasts,  I  lower  him  ;  if  he  lowers 
himself  I  raise  him  ;  either  way  I  contradict  him,  till 
he  learns  he  is  a  monstrous,  incomprehensible 

*  • 

mystery."  "  Make  yourself  an  honest  man,"  says 
Carlyle  sarcastically,  "and  then  you  may  be  sure 
there  is  one  less  rascal  in  the  world."  This  remark 
sprang,  probably,  from  a  reading  of 

YVHATELEY'S  COMPARISON 

of  a  rogue  with  a  man  of  honor  :  "  Other  things 
being  equal,  an  honest  man  has  this  advantage  over 
a  knave,  that  he  understands  more  of  human  nature  : 
for  he  knows  that  one  honest  man  exists,  and 
concludes  that  there  must  be  more ;  and  he  also 
knows,  if  he  is  not  a  mere  simpleton,  that  there  are 
some  who  are  knavish.  But  the  knave  can  seldom 
be  brought  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  honest 
man.  The  honest  man  may  be  deceived  in  particular 
persons,  but  the  knave  is  sure'  to  be  deceived 


MAN.  lyp 

whenever  he  comes  across  an  honest  man  who  is  not 
a  mere  fool."  "  Man  is 

TOO    NEAR    ALL    KINDS    OF    BEASTS 

a  fawning  dog,  a  roaring  lion,  a  thieving  fox,  a 
robbing  wolf,  a  dissembling  crocodile,  a  treacherous 
decoy,  and  a  rapacious  vulture."  This  was  the  poet 
Cowley's  opinion.  u  Of  all  the  animals "  scolds 
Boileau,  "  which  fly  in  the  air,  walk  on  the  ground, 
or  swim  in  the  sea,  from  Paris  to  Peru,  from  Japan 
to  Rome,  the  most  foolish  animal,  in  my  opinion,  is 
man."  People  must  be  very  bad,  indeed,  who  get 
opinions  as  low  as  the  two  last  quoted.  That 
rapacious  vulture  George  Peabody  !  that  dissembling 
crocodile  William  Cowper  !  that  robbing  wolf  Girard  ! 
that  thieving  fox  Charles  Sumner  !  that  fawning  dog 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  !  and  those  most  foolish  animals 
Louis  Agassiz  and  Isaac  Newton  !  It  does  not  well 
become  the  weakest  links  in  a  chain  to  boast  that 
they  gauge  that  chain's  strength,  for  the  chain  can  be 
greatly  strengthened,  upon  this  easy  discovery  of 
those  weak  links,  by  simply  dropping  them  out  of 
connection. 


l8o  MAN. 

And  now  comes  the  query  :  "What  is  man  ?  Vp 
He  has  always  been  more  or  less  at  a  loss  for  some 
striking  and  succinct  statement  of  his  peculiar  char- 
acteristics— of  the  mark  that  separates  him  from  other 
animals.  Diogenes  Laertius  says  that  Plato  having 
defined  man  to  be  a  two-legged  animal  without  feathers, 
he  (Diogenes)  plucked  a  cock,  and,  bringing  him  into 
the  school,  said  "  Here  is  Plato's  man."  From  this 
joke  there  was  added  to  the  definition  "With  broad 
flat  nails."  Even  this  definition  is  just  as  faulty,  as  it 
does  not  exclude  many  species  of  the  monkey. 
Again  it  was  thought  that  man  was  the  only 
being  who  laughs.  Says  Addison,  poetically  : 
"  Man  is  the  merriest  species  of  the  creation  ;  all 
above  and  below  him  are  serious."  But  scientists 
refuse  to  accept  this  distinction  as  accurate.  "  Man 
is  an  animal 

THAT    COOKS    HIS    VICTUALS," 

says  Burke.  "So  does  the'  buzzard"  (in  the  sun) 
say  the  learned  men.  "  Man  uses  tools,"  says  another. 
"  So  does  the  beaver — the  ourang-outang  hurls  stones, 
and  fights  with  clubs,"  say  the  scientists.  Finally, 
says  Adam  Smith,  in  his  "  Wealth  of  Nations  ;" 


MAN.  1 8 1 

"  Man  is  an  animal  that  makes  bargains ;  no  other 
animal  does  this — one  dog  does  not  change  a  bone 
with  another."  We  must  be  satisfied  with  this,  I 
suppose,  but  it  is  a  very  faulty  declaration,  for  I  have 
seen  one  dog  change  a  bone  with  another,  in  which' 
instance  a  big  dog  traded  with  a  little  dog,  and  im- 
pressed the  little  dog  with  the  desirability,  under  the 
circumstances,  of  the  smaller  of  two  bones  !  And  I 
am  not  sure  but  that 

ALL    BARGAINS,    WHETHER    HUMAN    OR    CANINE, 

are  of  that  stripe,  wherein  the  superior  of  two  bone 
or  money  getters  acquaints  the  inferior  with  the  good 
points  of  a  bad  bargain.  BufFon,  at  the  beginning  of 
his  Natural  History,  is  unable,  even,  to  give  any  line 
of  demarcation  between  vegetable  and  animal  sub- 
stances, and  perplexes  the  mind  with  an  infinitude  of 
faulty  attempts,  in  turn  showing  the  weak  spot  in  each. 
"  For  man  is  a  plant," 

SAYS  PLUTARCH, 

"  not  fixed  in  the  earth  nor  immovable,  but  heavenly, 
whose  head,  rising,  as  it  were,  from  a  root  upwards, 
is  turned  towards  heaven."  "  A  man  ought  to  carry 
himself  in  the  world,"  says  Henry  Ward  Beecher, 


182  MAN. 

continuing  and  building  on  Plutarch's  thought,  "  as 
an  orange-tree  would,  if  it  could  walk  up  and  down  in 
the  garden, — swinging  perfume  from  every  little  cen- 
ser it  holds  up  to  the  air." 

Know  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan; 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man. 

This  is  the  declaration  of  the  great  poet  Pope,  and 
a  glance  across  the  world's  literature  will  show  that 
the  mandate  was  unneeded.  For  ages  before  the 
birth  of  the  celebrated  uwasp  of  Twickenham,"  man- 
kind had  been  at  study  on  the  subject.  "  The  burden 
of  history  "  says  George  Finlayson,  "  is  what  man  has 
been;  of  law,  what  he  does;  of  physiology,  what  he  is; 
of  ethics,  what  he  ought  to  be;  of  revelation,  what  he 
shall  be."  "  Man  is  the  product  of  his  own  history," 
says  Theodore  Parker.  "  The  discoverer  finds  noth- 
ing so  grand  or  tall  as  himself,  nothing  so  valuable  to 
him.  The  greatest  star  is  that  at  the  end  of  the  tele- 
scope— 

THE  STAR  THAT  IS  LOOKING,  NOT  LOOKED  AFTER, 

nor  looked  at."  "  Man  is  greater  than  a  world,  than 
systems  of  worlds ;  there  is  more  mystery  in  the  union 
of  soul  with  the  physical  than  in  the  creation  of  the 


MAN.  183 

This  sentence  is  by  Henry  Giles.  To 
the  first  portion  of  it  I  give  unqualified  belief.  I  be- 
lieve, too,  with  John  Ruskin,  that  "  the  basest  thought 
possible  concerning  man  is  that  he  has  no  spiritual 
nature;  and  the  foolishest  misunderstanding  of  him 
possible  is,  that  he  has,  or  should  have,  no  animal 
nature.  For  his  nature  is  nobly  animal,  nobly  spirit- 
ual— coherently  and  irrevocably  so;  neither  part  of  it 
may,  but  at  its  peril,  expel,  despise,  or  defy  the  other." 
"  Man  is  the  metre  of  all  things,"  says  Aristotle, 

"THE  HAND 

is  the  instrument  of  instruments,  and  the  mind  Ik  the 
form  of  forms."  The  remark  of  the  great  Athenian 
regarding  the  hand,  while  no  truer  than  that  one 
touching  the  mind,  is  yet  easier  of  demonstration  to 
the  unphilosophical  reader.  For  instance,  the  prin- 
ters of  the  finest  engravings  to  this  day  use  the  palm 
of  the  hand  to  apply  the  ink ;  the  type-setting  machine 
is  so  far  a  failure  for  the  want  of  the  human  fingers ; 
the  most  perfect  performance  of  music  on  a  machine 
yet  lacks  that  sympathy  and  exception  to  mathemat- 
ical rule  which  the  human  fingers,  highly  trained,  im- 
part to  the  keyboard,  an  1  the  violin,  that  thing 


l8|  MAN. 

most  nearly  in  communication  with  the  soul 
of  man, — pays  no  allegiance  whatever  save  to  the 
human  hand  well  practiced  in  its  mastery;  the  hand 
skilled  in  love  soothes  the  aching  brow;  the  whole 
framework  of  this  instrument,  the  hand,  filled  with 
gold  coins,  almost  without  volition  spurns  the  spuri- 
ous piece;  the  false  bank-note  is  lifted  with  suspicion; 
across  the  signature  the  deft  fingers  run  to  aid  the 
eye ;  over  the  letters  the  mind  of  the  sightless  pushes 
its  loyal  touch,  and  the  signal  comes  faithfully  back 
to  the  dungeoned  intelligence  ! 

OUR  OPPORTUNITIES 

are  the  greatest  of  those  of  any  living  beings.  It  fol- 
lows, it  seems  to  me,  that  our  responsibilities  should 
be  greater,  both  in  justice  and  in  reason.  Every 
opportunity  is  equivalent  to  a  duty.  We  owe — with 
all  these  miracles  of  the  living  world  centered  and 
perfected  in  our  bodies, — :a  duty  equally  grand  and 
difficult.  Let  us  ennoble  ourselves.  John  Fletcher 
wrote  a  beautiful  metaphor  in  very  clumsy  verse 
when  he  said : 

Man  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  that  can 
Rendei  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate, 


MAN.  185 

Nothing  to  him  falls  early,  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still. 

HOLY  WRIT. 

The  Lord  has  well  loved  man :  "  He  found  him  in 
a  desert  land,  and  in  the  waste  howling  wilderness; 
he  led  him  about,  he  instructed  him,  he  kept  him  as 
the  apple  of  his  eye.  As  an  eagle  stirreth  up  her 
nest,  fluttereth  over  her  young,  spreadeth  abroad  her 
wings,  taketh  them,  beareth  them  on  her  wings,  so 
the  Lord  alone  did  lead  him."  "  The  Lord  hath 
sought  him  a  man  after  his  own  heart,  and  the  Lord 
hath  commanded  him  to  be  a  captain  over  his  people." 
"  When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fin- 
gers,  the  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained, 
[then]  what  is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ? 
and  the  son  of  man,  that  thou  visitest  him?  For 
thou  hast  made  him 

A  LITTLE  LOWER  THAN  THE  ANGELS, 

and  hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honor  !"  "I 
have  set  the  Lord  before  me.  Because  he  is  at  my 
right  hand,  I  shall  not  be  moved."  "Thy  rod  and 
thy  staff  they  comfort  me."  "  I  have  been  young,  and 
now  am  old,  yet  have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsak- 


186  MAN. 

en,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread."  "For  a  thousand 
years  in  thy  sight  are  but  as  yesterday  when  it  is  past, 
and  as  a  watch  in  the  night."  "  For  all  our  days 
are  passed  away  in  thy  wrath:  we  spend  our  years 
as  a  tale  that  is  told."  "So  teach  us  to  number  our 
days,  that  we  may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom." 
"  Thy  word  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet  and  a  light  unto 
my  path."  "  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep."  "  A 
man's  heart  deviseth  his  way,  but  the  Lord  directeth 
his  steps."  "  One  event  happeneth  to  them  all." 
"  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was ;  and 
the  spirit  shall  turn  unto  God  who  gave  it.1' 

We  perceive,  upon  a  glance  at  this  broad  subject, 
that  a  book  would  be  better  fitted  to  its  treatment 
than  a  chapter,  and  yet  a  chapter  alone  will  aid  in 
attuning  the  mind  to  the  nobility  of  our  destiny.  A 
single  thought  entering  the  mind  at  the  right  time 
will  turn  the  current  of  a  life.  Let  us  elevate  and 
strengthen  our  present  into  the  nobler  foundation  of  a 
happier  future  on  earth  and  a  blissful  eternity  in 
heaven.  We  are  endowed  with  shame.  Let  it  keep 
us  from  meriting  the  stinging  epigram:  "  God  made 
him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for  a  man." 


She  was  a.  phanton  of  delight 

When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight. 

And  now  I  see,  with  eye  serene, 

The  very  pulse  of  the  machine  ; 

A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 

A  traveler  betwixt  life  and  death  ; 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 

Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 

A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 

To  warm,  to  comfort,  and  command 

And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 

With  something  of  an  angel  light. — WORDSWORTH. 


AN  is  the  image  and  glory 
of  God,  but  the  woman  is 
the  glory  of  the  man," 
says  the  great  Book.  This 
is  so  true  that  most  of  the 
charities  and  mercies  for 

which  mankind  gets  credit  in  his  own 
Amoral  intelligence  are  inspired  by  the 

charitable   and    merciful    attributes    so 

characteristic     of      true      womanhood. 

Campbell,  in  the  "Pleasures  of  Hope," 

speaks  thus  of  the  Garden  of  Paradise  : 

[187] 


1 88  WOMAN. 

The  world  was  sad — the  garden  was  a  wild  , 
And  man,  the  hermit,  sighed,  till  woman  smiled. 

And  lovely  woman  has  smiled  forever.  Into  the 
lot  of  life  she  has  put  all  that  has  endeared  it  or  made 
it  tolerable  ;  into  the  hope  of  the  hereafter  she  has 
ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life  and  kept  it  a  living 
force.  Besides  the  charms  she  has  for  man  as  a 
thing  of  superexcellent  beauty,  woman  has  ever 
held  him  in  the  second  greatest  debt  he  owes.  She 
teaches  him,  not  less,  a  greater  debt  (to  God),  and 
brings  him  before  that  Chief  Creditor  with  little 
thought  of  her  own  dues.  Upon 

A    SUBJECT    SO    PLEASANT    TO    MAN, 

it  is  not  strange  that  he  has  spent  his  days  in  framing 
speeches  to  reward  the  admirable  devotion  of  woman, 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  believe  the  object  of  those  en- 
comiums has  received  them  as  the  most  desirable 
form  of  remuneration.  She  has  listened  to  his  praise 
with  beating  heart,  and  blossomed  into  greater 
loveliness.  She  has  had  no  greed  of  money,  save  as 
it  would  array  her  in  beauteous  raiment,  that  she 
might  better  guard  the  love  she  has  won  ;  she  has 
had  little  ambition,  save  as  she  might  be  of  service 


WOMAN.  189 

bo  her  mate,  whose  unquiet  soul  has  never  ceased  its 

PLUNGING   INTO    THE    NIGHT    OF    DESTINY, 

the  storm  of  life.  But  she  has  had  great  powers  of 
love,  great  powers  of  sacrifice,  great  depths  of 
forgiveness,  great  fountains  of  tears — those  still 
waters  where  bathes  the  human  soul  and  rises  clean 
before  God's  sight.  "Women  are  the  poetry  of  the 
world,  in  the  same  sense  that  the  stars  are  the  poetry 
of  heaven,"  says  Hargrave ;  "clear,  light-giving, 
harmonious,  they  are  the  terrestrial  planets  that  rule 
the  destinies  of  mankind."  "Man,"  says  Washington 
Irving,  "is  the  creature  of  interest  and  ambition. 
His  nature  leads  him  forth  into  the  struggle  and 
bustle  of  the  world.  Love  is  but  the  embellishment 
of  his  early  life,  or  a  song  piped  in  the  intervals  of  his 
acts.  But  a  woman's  whole  life  is 

A    HISTORY    OF    THE    AFFECTIONS 

The  heart  is  her  world  ;  it  is  there  her  ambition 
strives  for  empire  ;  it  is  there  her  avarice  seeks  for 
hidden  treasures.  She  sends  forth  her  sympathies  on 
adventure,  she  embarks  her  whole  soul  in  the  traffic 
pf  affection  ;  and,  if  shipwrecked,  her  case  is 


190  WOMAN. 

hopeless,  for  it  is  a  bankruptcy  of  the  heart.1' 
u  O,  if  the  loving,  closed  heart  of  a  good 
woman,"  cries  Jean  Paul  Richter,  "Should 
open  before  man,  how  much  controlled  tenderness, 
how  many  veiled  sacrifices  and  dumb  virtues,  would 
he  see  reposing  therein  ! "  "  Honor  to  women  ! " 
sings  his  brother-countryman, 

SCHILLER  ; 

they  twine  and  weave  the  roses  of  heaven  into  the 
life  of  men  ;  it  is  they  that  unite  us  in  the  fascinating 
bonds  of  love;  and,  concealed  in  the  modest  veil  of  the 
graces,  they  cherish  carefully  the  external  fire  of 
delicate  feeling  with  holy  hands."  "Win  her  and 
wear  her,  if  you  can,"  says  Shelley;  "she  is  the 
most  delightful  of  God's  creatures — Heaven's  best 
gift — man's  joy  and  pride  in  prosperity — man's 
support  and  comforter  in  affliction."  "Her  passions 
are  made  of  the  finest  parts  of  pure  love,"  says 
ShaEspeare.  "Her  commands  are  caresses,  her 
menaces  are  tears,"  says  Rousseau.  "She  was 

LAST    AT    THE    CROSS,    EARLIEST    AT    THE   GRAVE," 

says  Barrett.     "Her  errors   spring    almost    always 


WOMAN.  19! 

from  her  faith  in  tne  good  or  her  confidence  in  th« 
true "  declares  Balzac.  "  She  has  more  strength  in 
her  looks  than  we  have  in  our  laws,  and  more  power 
fey  her  tears  than  we  have  by  our  arguments,"  says 
the  Duke  of  Halifax,  a  great  statesman.  "All  the 
reasonings  of  men  are  not  worth  one  sentiment  of 
woman,1'  says  Voltaire,  skeptic  in  all  else.  "  Women 
in  their  nature  are  much  more  gay  and  joyous  than 
men,"  writes  Addison,  "whether  it  be  that  their 
blood  is  more  refined,  their  fibers  more  delicate,  and 
their  animal  spirits  more  light  and  volatile  ;  or 
whether,  as  some  have  imagined,  there  may  not  be  a 
kind  of 

SEX    IN    THE    VERY    SOUL, 

I  shall  not  pretend  to  determine."  "It  is  not  strange 
to  me"  says  Boyle,  a  good,  sensible  man,  "that 
persons  of  the  fairer  sex  should  like,  in  all  things 
about  them,  that  handsomeness  for  which  they  find 
themselves  most  liked."  Man  reviles  woman  for  her 
vanity.  At  the  same  time  it  is  the  particular  delight 
of  the  man  who  will  himself  wear  no  decoration  to 
load  upon  his  willing  wife  the  trinkets  of  his  fancy  as 
far  as  his  purse  will  pay  for  them.  Without  woman's 


192  WOMAN. 

• 

almost  savage  love  of  display,  man  would  be  robbed 
of  nearly  all  the  pleasure  which 

PERSONAL    ORNAMENTS 

now  give  him.  He  loves  woman,  just  as  she  is. 
Just  as  she  is  she  is  much  above  the  level  of  the  thing 
he  would  love  had  he  not  her  to  claim  his  rapt  at- 
tention. Man  smiles  at  woman's  weaknesses,  but  if 
he  thought  of  his  great  meanness  of  soul  when  his 
mercy  and  fidelity  are  in  the  scale  against  her  own, 
he  would  look  grave  and  troubled.  She  dresses 
with  expense  and  variety,  because  it  is  the  first 
ordinance  of  her  master.  Her  very  love  of  dress  is 
the  sign  and  seal  of  her  intelligence.  If  it  be  folly, 
arraign  man  at  the  dock  !  Says 

STAID    OLD    DR.  JOHNSON  : 

"  We  see  women  universally  jealous  of  the  reputation 
of  their  beauty,  and  frequently  look  with  contempt  on 
the  care  with  which  they  study  their  complexions, 
endeavor  to  preserve  or  supply  the  bloom  of  youth, 
regulate  every  ornament,  twist  their  hair  into  curls, 
and  shade  their  faces  from  the  weather.  We 
recommend  the  care  of  their  nobler  part,  and  tell 
them  r^ow  little  addition  is  made  by  all  their  arts  feo 


WOMAN.  193 

the  graces  of  the  mind.  But  when  was  it  known 
that  female  goodness  or  knowledge  was  able  to 
attract  that  officiousness,  or  inspire  that  ardor,  which 
beauty  produces  wherever  it  appears  ?  And  with 
what  hope  can  we  endeavor  to  persuade  the  ladies 
that 

THE    TIME    SPENT    AT    THE    TOILET 

is  lost  in  vanity,  when  they  have  every  moment  some 
new  conviction  that  their  interest  is  more  effectually 
promoted  by  a  ribbon  well  disposed  than  by  the 
brightest  act  of  heroic  virtue  ?  "  Listen  to  the  praise 
of  practical  John  Ledyard,  whose  word  has  the  solid 
ring  of  fact  about  it :  "I  have  observed  among  all 
nations  [that  he  had  seen,  the  statement  not  being 
applicable  to  a  majority  of  the  savages]  that  the 
women  ornament  themselves  more  than  the  men  ; 
that, 

WHEREVER  FOUND,  THEY  ARE  THE  MOST  CIVIL, 

kind,  obliging,  humane,  tender  beings;  that*  they  are 
ever  inclined  to  be  gay  and  cheerful,  timorous  and 
modest.  They  do  not  hesitate,  like  man,  to  perform 
a  hospitable  or  generous  action;  not  haughty,  nor 
arrogant,  nor  supercilious,  but  full  of  courtesy  and 


194  N»  O.MAN. 

fond  of  society;  industrious,  economical,  ingenuous; 
more  liable,  in  general,  to  err  than  man;  but,  in  gen- 
eral, also  more  virtuous,  and  performing  more  good 
actions  than  he.  I  never  addressed  myself  in  the  lan- 
guage of  decency  and  friendship  to  a  woman,  wheth- 
er civilized  or  savage,  without  receiving 

A  DECENT  AND  FRIENDLY  ANSWER. 

With  men  it  has  often  been  otherwise.  In  wandering 
over  the  plains  of  inhospitable  Denmark,  through  hon- 
est Sweden,  frozen  .Lapland,  rude  and  churlish  Fin- 
land, unprincipled  Russia,  and  the  widespread  regions 
of  the  wandering  Tartar,  if  hungry,  dry,  cold,  wet,  or 
sick,  woman  has  ever  been  friendly  to  me,  and  uni- 
formly so:  and,  to  add  to  this  virtue,  so  worthy  of  the 
appellation  of  benevolence,  these  actions  have  been 
performed  in  so  free  and  so  kind  a  manner,  that,  if  I 
was  dry,  I  drank  the  sweet  draught,  and,  if  hungry, 
ate  the  coarse  morsel  with  a  double  relish,"  Woman 
may  read  ' 

THIS  CANDID  TESTIMONY 

with  a  blush  of  gratification,  for  there  oreathes  no 
flattery  in  it — only  the  serious  observations  of  an  old 
man  bent  on  getting  knowledge  by  personal  experi- 


WOMAN.  195 

ence.  "A  man  may  flatter  himself  as  he  pleases," 
says  Sir  Richard  Steele,  "  but  he  will  find  that  the 
women  have  more  understanding  in  their  own  affairs 
than  we  have."  Man  suffers  in  his  loves  for  woman. 
She  often  casts  him  on  the  rocks  like  an  angry  unfeel- 
ing sea,  but  when,  at  last  she  has  smiled  upon  him,  he 
becomes  a  broader,  better  man.  Without  the  com- 
panionship of  woman,  man  is  truly  half-made  up.  He 
loses  his  self-esteem,  he  lives  without  laws,  without 
churches,  without  hospitals. 

THE  WESTERN  WILDS, 

during  the  early  period  of  their  settlement  by  Ameri- 
cans, have  furnished  us  with  accurate  views  of  society 
without  women.  And  what  has  that  society  been? 
More  a  den  of  wild  beasts  than  a  congregation  of  the 
most  reasoning  of  God's  creatures!  There  we  find 
men  living  in  constant  suspicion  of  their  comrades,  in 
constant  danger  of  hazarding  their  lives  for  some  sen- 
timental canon  of  personal  vanity  that,  if  they  were 
boys  in  civilized  society,  would  be  flogged  out  of 
their  moral  code. 

THE  WHOLE  HISTORY  OF  HUMAN  SICKNESS 

is  a  continuous  outcry   of   the   goodness   of   woman, 


196  WOMAN. 

Wherever  the  red  hand  of  war  has  risen  to  smite, 
there  the  white  hand  of  woman  has  hastened  to  soothe. 
After  the  roar  of  the  conflagration  and  amidst  the 
ruins  piled  up  by  the  earthquake  ever  has  that  sweet 
minister  sought  out  the  hungry  and  succored  the  suff- 
ering. 

CRITICISM  OUT  OF  PLACE. 

One  does  not  feel  that  he  can  do  any  good  by  criti- 
cising woman.  We  love  fruit  that  is  perfect.  We 
do  not  describe,  and  we  would  have  little  thanks  for  a 
description  of,  those  specimens  of  cherries,  strawber- 
ries, or  grapes  which  fail  to  realize  our  anticipations  of 
a  delightful  product  of  the  orchard,  the  garden,  or 
the  vineyard.  But  I  have  perhaps,  by  showing  the 
respect  in  which  men  of  intellect  and  honor  hold  a 
good  woman,  given  needed  encouragement  to  patient 
hearts,  and  testified  my  own  humble  regard  for  wo- 
manhood. 


His  hair  just  grizzled, 
As  in  a  green  old  age. — DRYDEN. 


HE  word  papa,  I  believe,  goes 
back,  just  as  it  is,  through  all  the 
languages,  to  the  Sanscrit,  and 
even  beyond  to  the  unknown 
Aryan,  the  stock  of  our  civilized 
tongues.  The  Pope  is  papa,  kind  father, 
in  Italian.  How  his  name  ever  came  to 
be  twisted  into  the  ugly  sound  we  hear 
in  English  is  a  problem,  for  the 
difference  on  the  feelings  between  the 
sounds  of  Pope,  and  papa,  kind  father, 
cannot  well  be  exaggerated.  The  kind 
father  of  a  good  man  occupies  an  en- 
viable place  in  that  man's  thoughts.  It  is  no  passing 
admiration  ;  that  father  is  no  hero  of  to-day,  no  study 
of  tomorrow,  no  dim  recollection  when  the  future 
shall  have  come — but  an  active  exemplar,  an  honored 

memory,  a  potent  spur  and  stay  combined — a  spur 

[197] 


198  FATHER. 

to  urge  to  all  a  man  should  do  ;  a  stay  to  curb  un- 
wisdom's flying  feet.  That  father  has  toiled  in 
weariness  that  his  son  might  follow  an  easier  path  of 
life.  Perhaps  you  now  tread  that  path.  How 
carefully  should  your  steps  be  taken  ;  how  earnestly 
you  should  climb  to  reach  the  round  which  meets 
your  self-denying  parent's  gaze  !  With  him  there 
have  come  few  paroxysms  of  delight  in  his  labor. 
He  has  not  been  endowed  with  that  mysterious  joy 
your  mother  has  felt  in  all  your  existence.  He  has 
delighted  in  you  because  he  hoped  you  would  bring 
honor  to  his  house ;  he  would  rather  you  had  not 
lived  than  to  see  you  in  a  prisoner's  cell — far  rather. 
This  could  not  be  said  of  your  mother.  She  would 
be  contented  that  you  had  lived  at  all,  that  you  had 
looked  into  her  eyes  and  laughed.  Your  father  has 
taken  care  of  you,  dutifully.  Repay  him  in  kindness. 
"Honor thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy  days 
may  be  long  upon  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God 
giveth  thee."  This  was  graven  by  the  Lord  in  the 
marble  tablets  on  Sinai,  and  has  been  in 
turn  graven  on  the  countless  millions  of  hearts  that 


FATHER.  199 

have  beaten  "  their  short  funeral  marches  "  since  that 
awful  hour. 

ALL    SOCIETY 

has  at  one  time  or  another  rested  on  the  sustaining 
power  of  the  father.  The  patriarch,  in  ancient  times, 
protected  and  sustained  his  dependents,  and,  in  return, 
received  their  entire  allegiance,  wielding  over  them 
the  power  of  life  and  death,  and  thus  initiating  the 
first  form  of  human  government.  Next  came  the 
cities,  where  the  government  was  formed  by  all  the 
fathers  together  in  council,  and  our  village  and  city 
legislators  are,  to  this  day,  called  "the  city  fathers," 
although  the  reverence  in  which  so  august  a  body 
was  once  held  has  departed  with  the  silent  flight  of 
the  dignity  of  our  modern  convocations.  Some  one 
has  said  of 

A    FINE    AND    HONORABLE    OtD    MAN, 

that  he  is  in  the  childhood  of  immortality.  "  One's 
age  should  be  tranquil,"  says  Dr.  Arnold,  "  as  one's 
childhood  should  be  playful  ;  hard  work  at  either  ex- 
tremity of  human  existence,  seems  to  me  out  of  place  ; 
the  morning  and  the  evening  should  be  alike  cool 
and  peaceful  ;  at  midday  the  sun  may  burn,  and 


2OO  FATHER. 

men  may  labor  under  it."  See  to  it,  if  it  be  within 
your  power,  that  your  father  has  the  rest  due  to  the 
evening  of  his  days.  Let  him  sit  in  the  cool.  Let 
him  listen  to  the  voices  of  his  night — the  crickets 
that  cry  out  his  mortality  and  the  nightingales  that 
sing  of  Paradise  ! 

"GRAY  HAIRS 

seem  to  fancy,"  says  Richter,  "like  the  light  of  a  soft 
moon  silvering  over  the  evening  of  life."  "  Old  age,"" 
says  Madame  Swetchine,  "  is  not  one  of  the  beauties 
of  creation,  but  it  is  one  of  its  harmonies.  The  law 
of  contrasts  is  one  of  the  laws  of  beauty.  Shadows 
give  light  its  worth  ;  sternness  enchances  mildness  ; 
solemnity  splendor." 

EXPERIENCE. 

"  Old  age  was  naturally  more  honored,"  says 
Joubert,  "  in  times  when  people  could  not  know  much 
more  than  what  they  had  seen."  There  are  still 
many  avenues  of  learning  in  which  practical  ex- 
perience seems  to  be  paramount  in  value.  In  business 
its  great  worth  is  never  underestimated.  You  have 
heard  of  the  partnership  built  on  a  contribution  by 
one  firm-member  of  the  money,  and  by  the  other  of  the 


FATHER.  201 

experience ;  and  of  the  dissolution  of  that  firm, 
leaving  the  one  who  put  in  the  money  with  all  the 
experience,  and  the  one  who  put  -in  the  experience 
with  all  the  money  !  The  practices  of  law  and 
medicine  are  famous  for  the  need  of  age,  which  they 
harness  anew  with  the  labors  and  exertions  ordinarily 
demanded  of  youth.  "Tell  me,"  says  Shakerly 
Marmion,  "  what  you  find  better  or  more  honorable 
than  age.  Is  not  wisdom  entailed  upon  it  ? 

TAKE  THE  PRE-EMINENCE  OF  IT  IN  EVERYTHING 

in  an  old  friend,  in  old  wine,  in  an  old  pedigree." 
"  I  venerate  old  age,"  says  the  great  and  good  poet 
Longfellow  ;  "  and  I  love  not  the  man  who  can  look 
without  emotion  upon  the  sunset  of  life,  when  the 
dusk  of  evening  begins  to  gather  over  the  watery  eye, 
and  the  shadows  of  twilight  grow  broader  and  deeper 
upon  the  understanding."  "It  is  only  necessary  to 
grow  old  to  become  more  indulgent,"  writes  Goethe  ; 
"  I  see  no  fault  committed  that  I  have  not  committed 
myself."  "  An  aged  Christian,"  says  Chapin, 
beautifully  enlarging  on  Goldsmith's  and  Dr.  Donne's 
ideas,  "  with  the  snow  of  time  on  his  head,  may  re- 


202  FATHER. 

mind  us  that  those  points  of  earth  are  whitest  which 
are  nearest  heaven." 

"LIKE  A  MORNING  DREAM," 

again  says  Richter,  "  life  becomes  more  and  more 
bright  the  longer  we  live,  and  the  reason  of  everything 
appears  more  clear.  What  has  puzzled  us  before 
seems  less  mysterious,  and  the  crooked  paths  look 
straighter  as  we  approach  the  end."  "  Time  has  laid 
his  hand  upon  my  heart  gently,"  says  Longfellow, 
"  not  smiting  it  ;  but 

AS  A  HARPER  LAYS  HIS  OPEN   PALM 

upon  his  harp,  to  deaden  its  vibrations."  "I  think 
that  to  have  known  one  good  old  man,"  George 
William  Curtis  says,  "one  man  who,  through  the 
chances  and  mischances  of  a  long  life,  has  carried  his 
heart  in  his  hand,  like  a  palm  branch,  waving  all  dis- 
cords into  peace — helps  our  faith  in  God,  in  ourselves, 
and  in  each  other  more  than  many  sermons."  "He 
that  would  pass  the  declining  years  of  his  life  with 
honor  and  comfort,"  says  Addison,  with  fine  opposi- 
tion, "  should,  when  young,  consider  that  he  may 
one  day  become  old,  and  remember,  when  he  is  old, 
that  he  has  once  been  young."  On  the  principle  that 


FATHER.  203 

blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their  flight  we  come 
to  love  the  sunshine  and  the  birds  and  all  God's  glori- 
ous works  just  as  we  grow  old. 

"  IF  WE  NEVER  CARED  FOR  LITTE  CHILDREN  BEFORE  " 

• 

says  Lord  Lytton,  "  we  delight  to  see  them  roll  on 
the  grass  over  which  we  hobble.  The  grandsire 
turns  wearily  from  his  middle-aged,  care-worn  son, 
to  listen  with  infant  laugh  to  the  prattle  of  an  infant 
grandchild.  It  is  the  old  who  plant  young  trees  ;  it 
is  the  old  who  are  most  saddened  by  the  autumn,  and 
feel  most  delight  in  the  returning  spring.  "  "Winter," 
says  Richter,  "  which  strips  the  leaves  from  around 
us,  makes  us  see  the  distant  regions  they  formerly 
concealed  ;  so  does  old  age  rob  us  of  our  enjoyments, 
only  to  enlarge  the  prospect  of  eteinity  before  us." 
Seneca  says  that  there  is  nothing  more  disgraceful 
than  that  an  old  man  should  have  nothing  to  produce 
as  a  proof  that  he  has  lived  long  except  his  years. 
I  love  Longfellow's  picture  of 

THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH, 

the  mighty  man.  It  has  been  set  to  one  of  the  best 
musical  accompaniments  that  I  have  ever  heard. 
When  the  verses  below  are  reached,  the  key  is  changed 


204  FATHER. 

to  one  where  the  sadness  intensifies,  until  the  hon- 
est old  heart  hears  the  "  mother's  voice  singing  in 
Paradise:  " 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church  ; 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise; 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

I  wish,  instead  of  merely  printing  these  simple 
words,  I  could  breathe  them  out  to  you,  as  some  great 
tenor  or  baritone  like  Sims  Reeves  or  Santley  sings 
them — there  is  such  a  world  of  human  life  and  feel- 
ing hidden  there,  ready  to  spring  forth  with  the  touch 
of  sympathetic  sounds  ! 

NOTHING  BECOMES  A  YOUNG  MAN  SO  MUCH 

as  a  respectful  demeanor  toward  a  reverend  man 
Nothing  lowers  a  man  so  much  as  flippant  speech  con- 
cerning his  elders.  The  young  man  with  the  most 
dignity  has  the  most  deference  for  age.  He  takes 
sincere  delight  in  bowing  before  ripe  years  and  wis- 


FATHER.  205 

dom.     Alas  !  how  sad  that  ever  age  should   come  to 
one  who  is  not  fitted  for  its  honors  ! 

I  have  known  a  son  to  thwart  every  dream  of  his 
father.  I  have  seen  the  parent,  struggling  with  ad- 
versity, yet  succeed  in  opening  before  the  child  a  ca. 
reer  of  honor  and  comfort;  and  I  have  seen  the  son 
clutch  those  opportunities  as  a  highwayman  seizes 
upon  the  wayfarer,  and  throttle  them  in  the  dust  and 
ashes  of  failure  and  disgrace.  How  sad  the  picture  ! 

A  BRIGHTER  VIEW. 

I  have  seen  a  parent  toil  for  years,  carrying  to  his 
cottage  the  wages  which  should  support  his  son  in 
seven  long  years  of  careful  education.  I  have  watched 
that  son  in  his  ceaseless  studies  and  found  he  thought 
only  of  gladdening  his  father's  heart.  I  have  seen 
him  graduate  second  in  a  class  of  one  hundred  and 
fifteen,  and  then  after  two  years  of  additional  study, 
first  in  a  body  of  eighty  young  men>  each  of  whom 
was  a  scholar.  The  best  men  of  a  great  city  have 
given  that  young  man  encouragement.  Their  homes 
and  their  wives  and  their  daughters  have  smiled  at  his 
approach,  and  his  course  has  been  upward  without  a 
fall,  and  with  few  pauses  for  rest.  Has  he  forgotten 


FATHER. 

his  poor  father  ?  No.  He  still  lives  in  the  cottage, 
and  will  make  the  small  house  with  a  great  man  in 
it  more  hospitable  and  more  honorable  than  a  wide 
door  that  swings  open  to  a  narrow  soul.  How  pleas- 
ant the  picture  ! 


A  mother  is  a  mother  still, 

The  holiest  thing  alive. — COLERIDGE. 

Not  learned  save  in  gracious  household  ways, 
Not  perfect,  nay,  but  full  of  tender  wants, 
No  angel,  but  a  dearer  being,  all  dipt 
In  angel  instincts,  breathing  Paradise. 

Who  looked  all  native  to  her  place,  and  yet 
On  tiptoe  seemed  to  touch  upon  a  sphere 
Too  gross  to  tread,  and  all  male  minds  perforce 
Swayed  to  her  from  their  orbits  as  they  moved, 
And  girdled  her  with  music.     Happy  he 
With  such  a  mother  !  faith  in  womankind 
Beats  with  his  blood. — TENNYSON. 

O  high  and  holy  a  title  as   mother 
cannot  fall  too  reverently  from  man's 
lips.     That  he  might  live  the  moth- 
er has  gone  down  into  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death;  that  he  might 
thrive  she  has  fed  him  with  willingness 
from  her  own  weak  body,    and    grown 
spectre-like  as  he  grew  strong  and  impor- 
tunate; that  he  might  go  among  his  fel- 
lows on  an  equal  footing,   she  has  toiled 
with  his  small  weak  brain  teaching  him 
the  beginning  of  his  education  and  tilling 
u  a  rank  unweeded  garden;"  that  he  might 


208  MOTHER. 

have  everlasting  life,  she  has  instilled  into  his  mind 
that  saving  fear  of  God,  which,  though  he  think  him- 
self an  atheist,  will  claim  the  mastery  when  Death  grins 
by  his  couch,  and  grant  him'a  stay  of  the  awful  judg- 
ment till  he  may  make  his  peace  with  a  Creator 
whose  mercy  endureth  forever.  Everything  a  man  is 
he  can  owe  but  to  his  mother ;  everything  he  may  be  in 
future  life  has  possibly  come  from  her  fond  intercess- 
ion, her  gentle  admonitions.  "  Unhappy  is  the  man 
for  whom  his  own  mother  has  not  made  all  other 
mothers  venerable,11  says  Richter.  "  The  future  des- 
tiny of  the  child,11 

SAYS  NAPOLEON, 

"is  always  the  work  of  the  mother,1'  and  it  is  certain 
that  he  had  ample  reason  in  his  own  remarkable  ca- 
reer for  making  this  important  admission.  He  inher- 
ited from  his  mother  all  those  attributes  which  made 
him  great,  and  owed  his  sudden  downfall  to  none  of 
her  teachings.  She  was  noted  for  her  sagacity  and 
prudence,  but  possibly  it  required  more  than  human 
sagacity  and  prudence  to  balance  the  mighty  impulses 
which  moved  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  "  A  father  may 
turn  his  back  on  his  child,"  says  Washington  Irving, 


MOTHER.  209 

"brothers  and  sisters  may  become  inveterate  enemies, 
husbands  may  desert  their  wives,  wives  their  husbands; 
but  a  mother's  love  endures  through  all;  in  good  rep- 
ute, in  bad  repute,  in  the  face  of  the  world's  condem- 
nation, a  mother  still  loves  on,  and  still  hopes  that  her 
child  may  turn  from  his  evil  ways,  and  repent ;  still 

SHE  REMEMBERS  THE  INFANT  SMILES 

that  once  filled  her  bosom  with  rapture,  the  merry 
laugh,  the  joyful  shout  of  his  childhood,  the  opening 
promise  of  his  youth;  and  she  can  never  be  brought 
to  think  him  all  unworthy."  •  "  There  is  in  all  this 
cold  and  hollow  world,"  says  Mrs.  Hemans,  "no 
fount  of  deep,  strong,  deathless  love,  save  that  within 
a  mother's  heart."  "  Even  He  that  died  for  us  upon 
the  cross,"  says  Longfellow,  "in  the  last  hour,  in  the 
unutterable  agony  of  death,  was  mindful  of  his  moth- 
er, as  if  to  teach  us  that  this  holy  love  should  be  our 
last  worldly  thought — the  last  point  of  earth  from 
which  .the  soul  should  take  its  flight  for  heaven." 
Who  ever  saw 

A  MOTHER  ROMPING  WITH  HER  THREE- YEAR-OLD 

that  did  not  look  upon  her  as  one  of  the  happiest, 
therefore,  necessarily,  one  of  the  best  of  God's  crea- 


2IO  MOTHER. 

tures  ?  O,  in  that  peek-a-boo,  that  capturing  of  that 
last  squealing  "  pig,"  the  little  toe,  that  paddy- 
cake  opera,  is  there  not  the  one  great  bliss  of  life,  to 
be  happy  in  making  others  happy?  And  how  the 
laughter  rings  through  the  house  !  And  then  the 
toil  and  self-denial  for  the  stocking  and  the  tree 

AT  CHRISTMAS  ! 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  child  is  so  easily  deceived, 
and  credits  all  his  joys  to  unseen  ministers  ?  It  would 
not  be  hard  to  convince  the  philosopher  himself  of  the 
dual  earthly  character  of  the  mother,  visibly  a  woman, 
invisibly  but  not  the  less  really  to  her  child,  an 
ethereal  spirit  of  mercy  and  goodness  !  What  gnaws 
her  cheek  and  cheats  Death  into  the  belief  a  flag  of 
truce  summons  him  to  the  final  parley  ?  Has  not  her 
babe,  her  hope,  been  fevered  and  in  pain,  and  should 
she  sleep  lest  it  should  leave  her  on  this  world  behind, 
that  then  would  need  her  not  ?  .  "  Canst  bind  the 
sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades  ?  "  No  more  can  her 

anxiety  be 

'      -  '.  v 

FETTERED  INTO  SLEEP ; 

no  more  can  her  quick  ear  be  deafened  to  the  little 
wail  that  echoes  pitiful  within  the  chambers  of  her 


MOTHER.  211 

heart  !  When  we  remember  the  great  passion  of 
motherhood,  the  intensity  of  the  drama,  the  prolong- 
ation into  years  of  its  deep  interplots,  we  cannot  mar- 
vel longer  at  the  perennial,  lasting  character  of  the 
mother's  love.  Given,  the  marvel,  there  is  no  further 
marvel.  Given  life,  the  scientists  say,  there  is  no  other 
problem  on  this  narrow  world.  And  thus  the  mar- 
vel and  the  mystery  never  grow  less. 

MAN  ENTERS  THE  WORLD, 

of  all  animals  the  most  pitiable  and  weakly.  Left  to 
himself  he  would  immediately  perish.  Extinguish  the 
mother's  love  and  he  would  at  once  peiish.  His 
growth  is  by  far  the  slowest  of  that  of  all  animals, 
therefore  the  wisdom  of  God  in  so  lengthening  the 
tenure  of  the  mother's  solicitude.  The  mighty  man 
who  wields  the  iron  halberd  which  no  two  people  can 
lift  was  still  a  helpless  infant,  unable  to  put  his  own 
chubby  fist  into  his  own  mouth  !  The  autocrat  who 
sweeps  whole  communities  into  Siberia  with  a  stroke 
of  his  pen  was  ill  when  his  mother  was  alarmed,  was 
in  agony  when  she  was  indiscreet  with  her  food  ! 
She  cannot  forget  this.  It  is  but  yesterday  she  dried 
his  flesh  to  keep  it  sound.  It  is  but  yesterday  she  let 


212  MOTHER. 

him  bite  his  aching  gum  upon  her  finger,  wishing  the 
ache  might  go  from  him  to  her — hoping  that  if  he 
gave  her  pain  he  would  have  less.  One  can  well 
pardon  the  vanity  that  would  lead  a  son  to  insist 
that  his  mother  should  accompany  him  to 

THE  EXECUTIVE  MANSION  OF  THE  GREAT  REPUBLIC, 

that  she  might  behold  him  enter  upon  the  Chief 
Magistracy  of  fifty  millions  of  freemen,  gained  by  the 
first  choice  of  a  majority  of  those  freemen,  yea, 
by  the  unanimous  first  and  second  choice,  for  none  so 
ready  to  fight  for  his  right  to  rule  as  he  who  yesterday 
voted  for  an  honored  .opponent — the  very  summit  of 
true  political  ambition — the  apex  of  the  mother's 
boldest  hope  !  "  The  mother's  love  is  indeed  the  golden 
link  that  binds  youth  to  old  age,"  says  Bovee  ;  "  and 
he  is  still  but  a  child,  however  time  may  have  furrowed 
his  cheek,  or  silvered  his  brow,  who  can  yet  recall, 
with  a  softened  heart,  the  fond  devotion,  or  the  gentle 
chidings,  of 

THE   BEST   FRIEND 

that  God  ever  gives  us  ! "  I  knew  an  aged  woman, 
who  interested  me  very  greatly  in  tales  of  "  her  boy  " 
— that  good  son  who  had  s©  often  proven  his  gratitude 


MOTHER.  2t3 

for  her  long  love.  One  day,  chancing  to  consider 
her  great  number  of  years,  I  inquired  how  old  "  her 
boy  "  was,  and  found  that  he  had  been  a  grand  father 
for  twenty-three  years,  and  had  lately  had  the  satis- 
faction of  holding  a  great  grandson  in  his  arms. 
Still  he  was  her  curly  haired-boy — she  could  remember 
him  in  no  other  condition  of  life  with  so  much 
satisfaction. 

"I   WOULD   DESIRE   FOR   A   FRIEND," 

says  Lacretelle,  "  the  son  who  never  resisted  the  tears 
of  his  mother."  "Love  droops,  youth  fades,  the 
leaves  of  friendship  fall ;  a  mother's  secret  hope  out- 
lives them  aliasings  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  "At 
first,"  says  Beecher,  "  babies  feed  on  the  mother's 
bosom,  but  always  on  her  heart."  "Stories  first 
heard  at  a  mother's  knee,"  affirms  Ruffini,  "are  never 
wholly  forgotten — a  little  spring  that  never  quite 
dries  up  in  our  journey  through  scorching  years." 

"AN  OUNCE  OF  MOTHER," 

says  the  Spanish  proverb,  "  is  a  pound  of  clergy." 
"  The  mother's  heart  is  the  child's  schoolroom,"  says 
another  writer.  "Men  are  what  their  mother's  made 
them,"  says  Emerson,  in  study  of  Napoleon's  idea  ; 


214  MOTHER. 

"you  may  as  well  ask  a  loom  which  weaves 
huckabuck  why  it  does  not  make  cashmere,  as  expect 
poetry  from  this  engineer,  or  a  chemical  discovery 
from  that  jobber."  "  It  is  generally  admitted,"  says 
Theodore  Hook,  "  and  frequently  proved,  that  virtue 
and  genius,  and  all  the  natural  good  qualities  which 
men  possess,  are  derived  from  their  mothers."  "  It  is 
well  for  us,"  says  Bishop  Hare  "  that  we  are  born 
babies  in  intellect.  Could  we  understand  half  what 
mothers  say  and  do  to  their  infants,  we  should  be 
filled  with 

A    CONCEIT    OF    OUR   OWN    IMPORTANCE 

which  would  render  us  insupportable  through  life. 
Happy  the  boy  whose  mother  is  tired  of  talking 
nonsense  to  him  before  he  is  old  enough  to  know  the 
sense  of  it."  Perhaps  the  praises  of  our  mothers 
tarry  in  our  brains  too  long  anyway.  It  may  be  a 
provision  of  nature  that  woman  shall  inspire  her 
child  with  sufficient  self-esteem  to  take  him  through 
the  world  with  a  first-class  ticket,  a  cabin  passage, 
that  he  may  escape  the  poor  accomodations  of  ex- 
cessive humility,  the  steerage  of  the  ship  of  life.  It 
seems  incredible  that  our  mother  was  mistaken  in 


MOTHER.  215 

thinking  her  boys  the  brightest,  best,  and  most 
creditable  in  all  the  region  roundabout  !  Let  us  by 
our  lives,  marvel  rather  at  the  correctness  of  her 
vision  than  tfye  blindness  of  her  love. 

"SHE  WHO  HAS  LOST  AN  INFANT," 
says  Leigh  Hunt,  "  is  never,  as  it  were,  without  an 
infant  child.  Her  other  children  grow  up  to  manhood 
and  womanhood,  and  suffer  all  the  changes  of 
mortality ;  but  this  one  alone  is  rendered  an 
immortal  child ;  for  death  has  arrested  it  with  his 
kindly  harshness,  and  blessed  it  into  an  eternal  image 
of  youth  and  innocence."  The  mother  teaches  us  the 
one  grand  lesson  of 

UNALTERABLE   FIDELITY. 

"Nothing  is  more  noble,"  says  Cicero,  "nothing 
more  venerable."  One  of  the  most  beautiful  tributes 
to  an,  aged  mother  was  written  by  Lamartine.  "  The 
loss  of  a  mother,"  he  says  "is  always  severely  felt. 
Even  though  her  health  may  incapacitate  her  from 
taking  an  active  part  in  the  care  of  her  family,  still 
she  is  a  sweet  rallying-point,  around  which  affection 
and  obedience,  and  a  thousand  endeavors  to  please, 
concentrate ;  and  dreary  is  the  blank  when  such  a 


2l6  MOTHER. 

point  is  withdrawn  !  It  is  like  that  lonely  star  before 
us  ;  neither  its  heat  nor  light  are  anything  to  us  in 
themselves  ;  yet  the  shepherd  would  feel  his  heart  sad 
if  he  missed  it  when  he  lifts  his  eye  to  the  brow  of 
the  mountain  over  which  it  rises  when  the  sun 
descends." 

THERE   ARE    MEN   WHO    FORGET    THE    CLAIMS 

their  mothers  have  upon  them.  Of  such  ungrateful 
wretches,  though  clothed  in  outward  excellences,  the 
pen  can  write  nothing  too  harsh  in  justice.  As  old 
Dr.  South  says,  "  the  greatest  favors  are  to  such  a 
one  but  the  motion  of  a  ship  upon  the  waves  ;  they 
leave  no  trace,  no  sign  behind  them.  All  kindness 
descend  as  showers  of  rain  or  rivers  of  fresh  water 
falling  into  the  main  sea  ;  the  sea  swallows  them  all, 
but  is  not  all  changed  or  sweetened  by  them.  If  you 
look  backward  and  trace  him  up  to  his  original,  you 
will  find  that  he  was  born  so  ;  and  if  you  look 
forward  enough,  it  is  a  thousand  to  one  that  you 
will  find  that 

HE    ALSO    DIES    SO. 

/ 

The  thread  that  nature  spins  is  seldom  broken  off  by 
anything  but  death.  I  do  not  by  this  limit  the 


MOTHER.  2 1 7 

operation  of  God's  grace,  for  that  may  do  wonders." 
Be  glad,  if  you  are  ungrateful,  that  a  wise  man  has 
given  you  so  good  counsel  to  pray — and  pray  as  you 
do  when  you  think  yourself  in  extreme  peril ! 

IF  YOUR  MOTHER  IS  YET  YOUNG, 

you  have  many  years  of  her  great  friendship  before 
you.  Try  and  pattern  after  her  boundless  affection. 
Let  it  melt  into  your  heart  and  make  it  warmer.  If 
"  age  has  snowed  white  hairs "  upon  her  head, 
treasure  her  the  more  fondly  during  the  few  swift 
years  she  will  be  left  to  you.  Soon  she  will  go  to 
her  reward,  and  you  will  be  without  the  only  friend 
of  man  whose  love  seems  to  be  inalienable — whose 
esteem  he  cannot  barter  away,  either  in  greed  or  in 
vice. 

THE   MOTHER   OF    MOTHERS. 

In  almost  every  .community  there  is  "  a  mother  in 
Israel,"  a  mother  of  mothers,  whose  great  heart  is 
like  the  ocean,  and  claims  the  outpourings  of  every 
stream  of  life.  To  these  grand  souls  of  virtue  and 
goodness  let  every  man  bow  in  reverence,  for  they 
are  mothers  to  the  motherless.  When  the  Reaper 
came  forth  to  reap  he  aimed  to  take  the  richest  sheaf, 


218 


MOTHER. 


but  lo !  the  mother  in  Israel  gathered  the  orphans 
together,  and  poured  out  her  tenderness  upon  them. 


Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly 

Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly,  •<,.- 

Never  met  or  never  parted, 

We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted  ! — BURNS. 

Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death, 

And  sweet  as  those  for  others  ;  deep  as  love, 

Deep  as  first  love,  and  wild  with  all  regret ; 

O  Death  in  Life  !  the  days  that  are  no  more. — TENNYSON. 

OVE,  says  Cowley,  "  is  a  great 
passion,  and  therefore  I  hope 
I  have  done  with  it."     I  think 
most   people   will   agree    with 
this  sentiment.     Love  is  such  a 
tyrant,  it  leaves  common  sense 
'  so  little  to  say,  that  the  majority 
of  people  are  heartily  glad  when  reason 
returns  to  her  throne    and    the    thrilling 
lunacy  is  a  remembrance  instead  of  a  fact. 
The   remembrance  is  sweet,   and  has  no 
angry  thorn,  no  peremptory  mandate.     The 
young  man  is  going  along  in  the  full  en- 
joyment of  his  life,  when  suddenly  a  huge 

coiled  spring,  the  existence  of  which  has  not  attracted 

[219] 


220  LOVE. 

his  notice,  is  loosed  in  his  breast,  his  whole  in- 
tellectual forces  centre  on  the  attainment  of  one  object, 
and  a  mental  strain  begins  which  is  of  the  exact 
nature  of  madness,  and  has  ever  been  termed  so  by 
people  who  have  looked  at  things  merely  by  what  they 
have  seen.  In  the  highly-feverish  state  of  the  brain  the 
nerves  of  the  whole  system  soon  become  involved, 
the  stomach  refuses  to  perform  its  functions,  and 
physical  emaciation  and  deep  melancholia  rapidly 
ensue.  The  obvious  reason  is  the  insane  state  of 
the  brain.  Nature  has  suddenly  impressed  that  organ 
with  the  one  idea  that  a  certain  fair  maid  is  actually 
without  the  faults  of  her  associates.  She  is  the  prize 
of  the  whole  world  !  Had  the  world  the  information 
of  her  perfections  which  is  lodged  in  this  young  man's 
secret  brain,  there  would  be  a  war  of  extermination 
for  her  possession — a  second  sack  of  Troy  at  the 
very  least.  Deep  pity  for  other  men  with  wives, 
who  cannot  marry  this  maiden,  and  pity  for  young 
men  who  have  seemingly  preferred  other  maidens, 
intermit  with  joy  that  all  the  world  ha§  been  so  blind. 

CAUTIOUSLY    THE   YOUTH    ADVANCES 

toward    his     prey.     The     expedition     is     one     of 


I.OVE.  231 

tremendous  importance,  therefore  his  exceeding 
amount  of  thought.  When  he  is  in  the  ineffable 
presence,  he  is  there  as  an  actor  in  a  tragedy,  or  as  a 
tenor  in  an  opera.  He  has  almost  counted  his  hairs  ; 
he  certainly  counts  the  winkings  of  his  eyelids  !  Can 
any  detail  be  unimportant  in  an  undertaking  of  such 
measureless  risk  ?  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  a 
young  man  who  is  giving  as  much  thought  as  this  to 
a  young,  thoughtless  girl  is  not  worth  much  in  his 
business  for  the  time  being  !  In  fact,  it  is  a  miracle 
to  him,  after 

SOME   DOOMFUL    FROWN 

from  his  queen,  that  he  has  survived  the  night  and 
goes  to  his  work  at  all !  He  is  confident  that  it  is 
base  habit.  "  O,  that  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would 
melt !  "  he  cries,  as  his  dissatisfied  employer,  or  father, 
requires  some  reasonable  action  and  fails  to  get  it. 
In  afterlife  this  same  young  man  is  glad  the  "  grand 
passion "  will  never  come  to  him  again.  He  feels 
that  it  has  not  heightened  him  in  his  own  regard. 
His  love  may  have  been  smooth  or  it  may  have  been 
swallowed  in  the  quicksands  of  adversity — the 
difference  is  small.  It  is  not  creditable  to  the  human 


222  LOVE. 

brain  to  be  so  hoodwinked  and  purblind    as     Cupid 
'  makes  his  victims.     But 

LOVE   RULES    THE   UNIVERSE, 

having  its  climax  in  God  himself,  and  its  earthly 
ideality  in  the  mother's  affection.  We  should  not 
complain  that  when  the  potent  essence  is  first 
administered  to  us  it  shakes  us  seriously.  Without 
this  passion,  selfishness  would  triumph,  and  man 
would  not  take  on  thet^ares  of  wedded  life.  Society 
and  religion  would  wither.  The  world  would  be 
a  howling  den  of  chaos  and  deep  crime. 

HOW    HAVE   THE    SAGES   LOOKED   UPON    LOVE  ? 

I  think  they  are  inclined  to  praise  it,  as  a  whole — to 
indorse  it  merely  as  a  sensation,  a  passing  grat- 
ification. It  has  always,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to 
me  like  an  exquisitely  painful  means  to  an  exquisitely 
beautiful  end.  The  warm  genial  love  of  the  home — 
the  love  which  is  as  an  open  grate,  cheerful,  and 
which  is  without  those  thunderstorms  needful  to  clear 
the  heavily  charged  atmosphere  of  youthful  love — 
pleases  and  repays  me  for  "the  dangers  I  have  passed." 
"  The  greatest  pleasure  of  life  is  love,"  says  Sir 
William  Temple.  "  Love  is  like  the  hunter,"  says 


LOVE.  223 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  "who  cares  not  for  the  game 
when  once  caught,  which  he  may  have  pursued  with  the 
most  intense  and  breathless  eagerness."  This  is  true 
of  only  a  minority  of  the  hunters.  I  have  more 
frequently  bought  additional  fish  than  thrown  away 
those  I  have  caught.  Why  ?  Because  the  weariness 
and  difficulty  of  catching  two  or  three  rock  bass  had 
impressed  me  with  the  value  of  a  whole  string  of  fish. 
You  have  seen 

THE    ANXIETY    OF    THE    CAT 

to  make  the  captive  mouse  believe  she  is  not  on 
guard.  She  walks  away  with  the  utmost  indifference. 
But  let  the  mouse  so  much  as  move  its  crushed  little 
body,  she  is  upon  it  with  the  ferocity  of  the  greatest 
members  of  her  agile  tribe.  So  it  is  with  us.  Let 
our  possesion  escape  us,  our  consternation  is  complete. 
Again  the  spring  uncoils,  and  again  we  are  madmen. 
"  A  murderous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon  than 
love  that  would  seem  hid  ;  love's  night  is  noon,"  says 
Shakspeare.  "  It  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
than  never  to  have  loved  at  all  "  sings  Tennyson. 
"  Nothing  but  real  love,"  says  Lord  Lytton,  "can 


224  LOVE. 

repay  us  for  the  loss  of  freedom,  the  cares  and  fears  of 
poverty, 

THE    COLD    PITY    OF    THE   WORLD 

that  we  both  despise  and  respect."  "  Love,"  says 
Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  wittily,  "  is  a  superstition  that 
doth  fear  the  idol  which  itself  hath  made."  "To  reveal 
its  complacence  by  gifts,"  says  Mrs.  Sigourney, '"  is  one 
of  the  native  dialects  of  love."  "  Love  is  never  so 
blind  as  when  it  is  to  spy  faults  "  says  South.  "  Love 
reckons  days  for  years,"  says  Dry  den.  "  and  every 
little  absence  is  an  age."  "Where  love  has  once 
obtained  an  influence,"  observes  Plautus  dryly,  "  any 
flavoring,  I  believe,  will  please."  "That  is  the  true 
reason  of  love," says  Goethe,  "when  we  believe  that 
we  alone  can  love,  that  no  one  could  either  have 
loved  so  before  us,  and  that  no  one  will  love  in  the 
same  way  after  us." 

"  NO  CORD  OR  CABLE  CAN  DRAW 

so  forcibly  or  bind  so  fast,"  says  melancholy  Burton, 
"  as  love  can  do  with  only  a  single  thread."  "  Where 
there  exists  the  most  ardent  and  true  love,"  says  Val- 
erius Maximus,  "it  is  often  better  to  be  united  in  death 
than  separated  in  life."  "A  man  of  sense  may  love 


LOVE.  225 

like  a  madman,"  says  Rochefoucauld,  "but  not  like  a 
fool."  Says  Addison,  who  was  a  bachelor,  and  knew 
little  about  the  heart:  "  Ridicule,  perhaps,  is  a  better 
expedient  against  love  than  sober  advice ;  and  I  am  of 
the  opinion  that  Hudibras  and  Don  Quixote  may  be 
as  effectual  to  cure  the  extravagance  of  this  passion 
as  any  one  of  the  old  philosophers."  "  Love  lessens 
woman's  delicacy  and  increases  man's,"  says  Richter. 
This  accords  with  common  observation.  "  It  makes 
us  proud  when  our  love  of  a  mistress  is  returned," 
says  Hazlitt,  in  a  rambling  manner;  "it  ought  to 
make  us  prouder  still  when  we  can  love  her  for  herself 
alone,  without  the  aid  of  any  such  selfish  reflection 
This  is  the  religion  of  love."  All  such  argument  pro- 
ceeds on  the  theory  that  love  is  a  sawing  of  wood,  a  dig- 
ging of  potatoes,  or  some  such  "  emotion,  "to  be  entirely 
controlled  by  the  will  and  regulated  by  the  decencies. 
"Loving,"  says  Shakspeare,  "goes  by  haps;  some 
Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps."  "The 
accepted  and  betrothed,  lover  has  lost  the  wildest 
charms  of  his  maiden,  in  her  acceptance  of  him." 
says  Emerson,  again;  "  she  was  heaven  whilst  he  pur- 
sued her  as  a  star — she  cannot  be  heaven  if  she 


LOVE. 

stoops  to  such  a  one  as  he."  I  do  not  think  Emerson 
has  got  exactly  the  right  idea  of  the  way  a  lover  feels 
just  there.  Here  it  is  and  nearer  the  truth — I  do 
not  know  the  author's  name : 

I've  thought,  if  those  dumb,  heathen  gods  could  breathe. 

As  shapeless,  strengthless,  wooden  things  they  stand. 
And  feel  the  holy  incense  round  them  wreathe, 

And  see  before  them  offerings  of  the  land  ; 
And  know  that  unto  them  is  worship  paid 

From  pure  hearts,  kneeling  on  the  verdant  sod. 
Looking  to  helplessness,  for  light  and  aid 

Because  by  fate  they  know  no  higher  god  : 
How  their  dull  hearts  must  ache  with  constant  pain. 

And  sense  of  shame,  and  fear  to  be  flung  down 
When  all  their  weakness  must  one  day  be  plain, 

And  fire  avenge  the  undeserved  crown, 
And  reading  my  love's  letter,  sad  and  sweet,  I  sigh. 

Knowing  that  such  a  helpless,  wooden  god  am  I. 

"  The  comparison  of  love  to  fire  holds  good  in  one  re,s 
spect,"  says  Henry  Home,  "  that  the  fiercer  it  burns 
the  sooner.it  is  extinguished."  ".Love  me  little  love 
me  long"  says  Marlowe.  "  The  plainest  man,  that 
can  convince  a  woman,"  says  Colton,  "  that  he  is  really 
in  love  with  her,  has  done  more  to  make  her  in  love 
with  him  than  the  handsomest  man,  if  he  can  produce 
no  such  conviction."  "  There  is  a  gloom  in  love," 
says  Walter  Savage  Landor,  "as  in  deep  water; 


LOVE.  227 

there  is  a  silence  in  it  that  suspends  the  foot ;  and  the 
folded  arms  and  the  dejected  head  are  the  images  it 
reflects."  "  Love  is  but  another  name  for  that  in- 
scrutable presence  by  which  the  soul  is  connected  with 
humanity,"  says  Simms.  "  The  beings  who  appear 
cold,"  says  Madame  Swetchine,  "  adore  where  they 
dare  to  love."  "  Man,  while  he  loves,  is  never  quite 
depraved,"  says  Charles  Lamb.  "  It  is  possible,"  says 
Terence,  referring  to  the  unquestionable  temporary 
insanity  of  the  passion,  "  that  a  man  can  be  so  changed 
by  love  that  one  could  not  recognize  him  to  be  the 
same  person."  "  Solid  love,  whose  root  is  virtue,  can 
no  more  die,  than  virtue  itself,"  says  Erasmus,  who 
was  probably  talking  about  a  requited  affection. 

THE  CASE  OF  THE  POET  PETRARCH, 

who  loved  another  man's  wife  all  his  life,  simply  be- 
cause he  fell  in  love  with  her  before  she  married  the 
other  fellow,  does  not  strike  me  as  exactly  the  proper 
thing,  or  exactly  the  manly  thing.  I  like  better  the 
Sensible  Shepherd  of  George  Wither,  who  sang  jaun- 
tily: 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day. 
Or  the  flowery  meads  in  May, 


228  LOVE. 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ? 

Kill  off  your  love  if  it  be  not  returned,  as  though  it 
were  a  condemned  felon.  The  execution  is  a  painful 
scene,  but  the  effect  on  your  manhood  is  good.  "  True 
love  were  very  unlovely,  "says  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  "if 
it  were  half  so  deadly  as  lovers  term  it ! "  "  There 
are  few  people,"  says  Rochefoucauld,  "  who  are  not 
ashamed  of  their  loves  when  the  fit  is  over."  "  In 
love  we  are  all  fools  alike,"  says  Gay.  "We  that 
are  true  lovers  "  says  Shakspeare,  "  run  into  strange 
capers;  but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature 
in  love  mortal  in  folly."  UO  love,"  cries  LaFon- 
taine,  "  when  thou  gettest  dominion  over  us, 

WE  MAY  BID  GOOD-BY  TO  PRUDENCE." 

"  Love  can  hope  where  reason  would  despair,"  says 
Lyttleton.  "  O  love,  the  beautiful,  the  brief ! "  ex- 
claims Schiller.  "  Love  at  two-and-twenty  is  a  terribly- 
intoxicating  draught,"  says.Ruffini.  "At  lovers1  per- 
juries they  say  Jove  laughs,"  smiles  Shakspeare. 
"  Where  love  and  wisdom  drink  out  of  the  same  cup, 
in  this  everyday  world,  it  is  the  exception,"  said  Mad- 
ame Neckar.  "  The  poets,  the  moralists,  the  painters, 
in  all  their  descriptions,  allegories,  and  pictures,  "says 


:.  229 

Addison,  "  have  represented  love  as  a  soft  torment,  a 
bitter  sweet,  a  pleasing  pain,  or  an  agreeable  distress." 
"  O  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth  the  uncertain 
glory  of  an  April  day  ! 

ADIEU,  VALOR  !  RUST,  RAPIER  ? 

be  still,  drum  !  for  your  manager  is  in  lov.e;  yea,  he 
loveth  !"  says  Shakspeare.  "  I  do  much  wonder," 
says  the  King  of  Thought,  again,  "  that  one  man,  see- 
ing how  much  another  man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates 
his  favor  to  love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such 
shallow  follies  in  others,  became  the  argument  of 
his  own  scorn,  by  falling  in  love." 

"  LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP  EXCLUDE  EACH  OTHER," 

says  DuCoeur.  "Love  begins  by  love,  and  the 
strongest  friendship  could  only  give  birth  to  a  feeble 
love."  "  Love,  which  is  only  an  episode  in  the  life  of 
man,"  says  Madame  DeStael,  "  is  the  entire  history 
of  woman's  life."  "  Love  is  a  spaniel,"  says  Colton, 
"  that  prefers  even  punishment  from  one  hand  to  ca- 
resses from  another."  "A  man  loved  by  a  beautiful 
and  virtuous  woman,  carries  a  talisman  that  renders 
him  invulnerable,"  says  Madame  Dudevant;  "every- 
one feels  that  such  a  one's  life  has  a  higher  value  than 


230  LOVE, 

that  of  others."  "  There  are  no  little  events  with 
love,"  says  Balzac;  "it  places  in  the  same  scales  the 
fall  of  an  empire  and  the  dropping  of  a  woman's  glove." 
"  There's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life  as  love's  young 
dream,"  says  Moore.  "  Where  there  is  love  in  fche 
heart,"  says  Beecher,  "  there  are  rainbows  in  the  eyes, 
which  cover  every  black  cloud  with  gorgeous  hues." 
"  The  greatest  happiness  of  life,  "  says  Victor  Hugo, 
"is  the  conviction  that  we  are  loved  for  ourselves 
—say, 

RATHER  IN 'SPITE  OF  OURSELVES." 

"  Love  makes  its  record  in  deeper  colors,"  says  Long- 
fellow, "  as  we  grow  out  of  childhood  into  manhood ; 
as  the  Emperors  signed  their  names  in  green  ink 
when  under  age,  but  when  of  age,  in  purple."  The 
heart  of  a  young  v/oman  in  love  is  a  golden  sanctuary," 
says  Paulin  Limayrac,  "  which  often  enshrines  an 
ido  of  clay."  This  thought,  the  reader  can  see  is  a 
close  neighbor  of  the  Boston  poet's  idea  of  the  "  base 
wooden  god,"  spoken  of  a  while  back.  "  We  forgive 
more  faults  in  love  than  in  friendship,"  says  Henry 
Home;  "  expostulations  betwixt  friends  end  generally 
ill,  but  well  betwixt  lovers." 


LOVE.  231 

"  Gold,"  says  Deluzy,  "  does  not  satisfy  love;  it  must 
be  paid  back  in  its  own  coin."  "  The  platform  of  the 
altar  of  love,"  says  Jane  Porter,  with  great  accuracy 
of  metaphor,  "  is  constructed  of  virtue,  beauty,  and 
affection;  such  is  the  pyre,  such  the  offering;  but  the 
ethereal  spark  must  come  from  heaven  that  lights  the 
sacrifice."  "  This  passion  is,"  says  Dr.  South,  "  the 
great  instrument  and  engine  of  nature,  the  bond  and 
cement  of  society,  the  spring  and  spirit  of  the  uni- 
verse. It  is  the  whole  man  wrapped  up  into  one  de- 
sire, all  the  power,  vigor,  and  faculties  of  the  soul 

ABRIDGED  INTO  ONE  INCLINATION." 

"  Samson  was  so  tempted,"  says  Shakspeare,  "  and  he 
had  an  excellent  strength;  yet  was  Soloman  so  se- 
duced; and  he  had  a  very  good  wit."  There  has  al- 
ways been  one  time  in  a  man's  life  when  he  felt  poets 
should  sing  only  of  this  one  act  in  the  drama  of  life. 
Here  is  the  idea — the  same  idea  we  have  all  had, 
only  dressed  in  better  raiment,  for  Alexander  Smith 
took  great  pride  in  the  children  of  his  biain:  "Me- 
thinks  all  poets  should  be  gentle,  fair,  and  ever  young, 
and  ever  beautiful;  I  would  have  all  poets  to  be  like 
to  this — gold-haired  and  rosy-lipped,  to  sing  of  love." 


232  LOVE. 

Finally,  said  the  Great  Napoleon:  "  Love  is  the  oc- 
cupation of  the  idle  man,  the  amusement  of  the  busy 
one,  and 

THE  SHIPWRECK  OF  A  SOVEREIGN." 

Thus,  if  we  will  turn  through  the  pages  of  our  books, 
we  will  see  everywhere  the  marks  of  love  upon  men's 
minds.  It  is  a  rude  bath,  which  when  we  have  grown 
more  accustomed  to  the  waters,  delights  and  satisfies, 
and  in  our  sleep  our  dreams  are  beautiful.  It  is  nat- 
ural, and  therefore  need  not  be  called  laudable — 
though  if  it  were  not  a  part  of  our  development, 
schools  of  love  would  be  a  necessity,  to  teach  men  how 
to  love  without  scandal  in  the  sight  of  God. 

THE  FIRST  ATTACK  OF  LOVE  IS  RIDICULOUS 

to  those  not  acting  one  of  the  two  parts,  yet  it  is  well 
to  remember  our  own  experience.  "  Love  is  the  ful- 
filling of  the  law,"  says  the  Bible;  "  many  waters  can- 
not quench  it,  neither  can  the  floods  drown  it."  Neith- 
er can  the  selfish  aim  nor  the  cruel  jest  of  the  parent 
whom  it  discommodes  do  aught  but  fan  the  flame  if 
God  and  not  folly  have  truly  lighted  it.  The  danger 
of  handling  carelessly  the  fire  of  the  heart  is  one  of 
the  gravest  which  confront  the  guardians  of  younger 


LOVE. 


233 


lives.  The  switch  is  fixed;  the  train  is  approaching; 
if  you  attempt  to  turn  the  train  you  must  not  only 
know  where  it  is  going  after  it  shall  be  .  turned,  but 
you  must  have  the  skill  to  see  whether  there  yet  re- 
mains time  to  make  the  movement  with  success. 
A  wreck  by  a  switchman  is  a  fearful  thing  ! 


'  Their  Love  was  like  the  lava-flood 
That  burns  in  ^Etna's  breast  of  flame." 

And  when  with  envy  Time,  transported, 
Shall  think  to  rob  us  of  our  joys, 

You'll  in  your  girls  again  be  courted, 
And  I'll  go  wooing  in  my  boys. — PERCY. 


N  flies  time,  and  thus  the  tale  goes 
on.  You  are  in  love  with  an 
amiable  maiden,  and  she  is  pleased. 
|  If  you  could  see  further  into  her 
'heart  you  would  find  she  was 
idolatrous.  But  this  matter  of  courtship 
must  have  shown  you  how  careless  you 
have  been  with  your  money  through  all 
those  years  you  might  have  been  hoarding 
it  for  this  great  need.  But  you  did  not 
save  your  wages,  probably,  or  if  you  did 
you  are  an  exceptional  young  man.  You  now  need 
money.  You  should  work  about  fifteen  months 
before  you  marry.  It  will  be  a  long,  tedious,  un- 
pleasant pull,  trying  to  the  affections,  and  it  is 

[«54] 


COURTSHIP.  235 

generally  very  trying  to  the  health  ;  but  it  is  necessary, 
and  if  you  have  not  the  persistence  to  save  money  for 
fifteen  months,  in  the  meantime  quarreling  and 
making  up,  with  all  the  quarters  of  the  moon,  you 
have  not  the  solidity  of  citizenship,  and  will  be  better 
unmarried.  "Successful  love  takes  a  load  off  our 
hearts,  and  puts  it  upon  pur  shoulders  "  says  Bovee. 
Square  up  your  shoulders !  Get  under  the  load  so 
that  you  can  carry  it !  The  days  of  responsibility 
have  come.  The  larger  the  responsibilities  look,  the 
deeper  the  young  man  usually  loves.  The  day  of  the 
Chicago  fire  a  man  put  up  a  pine  shed  on  the  ruins  of 
a  marble  palace,  and  on  his  sign  he  painted 

"  ALL   GONE   BUT   WIFE   AND   HOPE  !  " 

People  who  thought  those  two  things  a  small  capital 
were  greatly  mistaken,  for  that  same  man  is  now 
rich  again.  When  you  hear  of  a  man  being  ruined 
by  getting  married,  ask  for  names  and  dates.  The 
name  will  usually  settle  it.  Along  the  front  of  the 
lake  at  Chicago  is  a  breakwater.  In  hot  weather 
this  pier  is  nearly  covered  with  men  of  leisure,  taking 
midsummer-night  dreams.  They  are  the  so-called 
"  harvesters  "  who  start  out  in  droves  into  the  country 


236  COURTSHIP. 

•• 

after  something  to  do — "  forced  to  search  for  work 
and  not  find  it ! "  Marriage  has  not  ruined  them. 
You  will  find  that  the  men  your  adviser  shows  you 
who  has  been  ruined  by  marriage,  was  a  born  wharf- 
rat,  fit  only  to  be  shot  with  a  gun  big  enough  to  save 
the  expense  of  any  further  funeral. 

THERE    IS   NO    POSSIBLE    CHANCE 

of  a  man  being  worse  off  married  than  single.  As  a 
married  man,  he  is  on  the  right  path.  As  a  single 
man,  there  is  no  anchor  for  him.  He  may  be  here 
to-day,  in  San  Francisco  next  week.  Then,  in  two 
or  three  years,  he  will  be  back,  as  poor  as  ever.  You 
will  have  to  work,  of  course.  But  you  have  never 
before  done  your  share  of  the  work.  If  you  are  a 
smart  man,  you  can  do  your  share  and  more  too. 
You  will  have  a  home  of  your  own.  You  coufd 
never  get  one  as  a  single  man,  perhaps,  because  you 
would  not  need  one. 

YOU    WILL    BE    SAFER 

as  a  married  man.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  virtuous, 
sober,  Christian,  unmarried  man  should  have  twice 
the  credit  of  a  married  man,  for  he  is  certainly 


COURTSHIP.  237 

exposed  to  thousands  of  extra  temptations.  Every- 
thing is  natural  in  marriage.  The  builder  has 
"  builded  wiser  than  he  knew."  At  thirty-five  he 
finds  himself  well  along  on  the  successful  journey  of  life. 
His  bachelor  friend  who  has  lived  a  selfish  existence  is 
poorer,  has  lost  the  charm  of  youth,  and  is  skurrying 
around  to  get  a  wife  who  will  be  a  queen  and  slave 
at  the  same  time.  His  bachelor  friend  is 

A   LAUGHING-STOCK 

among  the  last  crop  of  young  girls,  who  can  recollect 
how  he  went  with  their  married  sisters^  and  he  will 
be  satisfied  with  nothing  above  eighteen,  though  his 
hair  is  dropping  out,  or  frosting  like  a  cold  night  in 
September.  If  he  had  not  been  so  selfish  he  would 
have  been  married  eight  or  ten  years  ago.  Now 

NATURE    BEGINS   TO    ASSERT    HERSELF. 

The  friends  of  his  youth  have  formed  the  new  ties 
that  have  come  with  the  march  of  the  years.  The 
trees  have  their  leaves,  and  cast  a  grateful  shadow, 
cool  and  sweet.  The  bachelor  is  bare,  and  under 
his  branches  the  hot  and  withering  sun  pours  down 
unpleasantly.  You  are  lucky  to  have  escaped  such  a 


238  COURTSHIP. 

lot,  for  it  is  O,  so  lonesome  and  unsatisfactory  to 
man  !  It  is  not  good  for  him  to  be  alone.  Now, 

IN    TALKING   TO   YOUR   SWEETHEART, 

there  is  one  bearing  alone  which  will  bring  forth  good 
fruit.  Be  honest  and  sincere.  Remember  that  the 
philosophers  and  sages  of  the  centuries  have  been 
studying  and  marveling  over  the  thing  called  Truth 
— why  it  is  that  it  always  asserts  itself — why  it  is 
that  its  parts  always  coincide  with  each  other,  as 
though  they  had  first  been  put  together !  When 
you  see  cut  stones  unloading  before  the  site  of  a 
building,  you  know  by  the  marks  on  them  that,  when 
they  are  put  together,  they  will  make  a  fine-looking 
front,  for  the  architect  has  copied  them  from  the  front 
of  some  building  which  has,  sometime  or  other,  been 
erected  just  as  this  projected  structure  will  be,  But 
here  is 

THIS   QUARRY   OF    TRUTH  ; 

you  enter  it  without  a  human  architect,  hew  out  a 
stone,  hew  out  another,  and  another,  and  soon  a 
beautiful  edifice  arises,  in  the  walls  of  which  there  is 
not  a  single  peep-hole  or  blemish.  Everything  fits. 
So  bear  yourself  toward  your  future  partner  for  life 


COURTSHIP.  239 

that  when  you  enter  the  quarry  of  your  brain  for  her 
information,  you  also  enter  this  quarry  of  Truth.  The 
stones  you  now  cut  out  will  stand  as  the  buttresses  of 
the  walls  ! 

HOW    SHOCKING   IF    THEY    ARE   LIES  ! 

Tell  her,  when  you  tell  her  anything  at  all,  the  exact 
truth.  Be  very  careful  about  this.  Tell  her 
particularly  about  your  money  affairs.  Your 
happiness  depends  more  on  food  and  clothes  than  you 
are  now  able  to  understand.  But  if  you  put  in  solid 
blocks  of  truth  for  the  basement,  the  finer  develop- 
ments of  your  life  will  join  on  with  precision  and 
effect.  I  know  a  young  man  who  went  in  debt  for 
a  fine  span  of  horses  and  wagon.  His  bride  supposed 
they  were  his  own,  and  he  "  let  her  suppose." 

A   WHOLE    AFTERLIFE 

of  the  veriest  toil  and  the  most  honorable  career 
never  wholly  expunged  the  blame  which  attached  to 
him  in  both  her  mind  and  the  minds  of  her  people. 
It  was  so  foolish  in  him  !  One  little  speech,  and 
long  years  of  bitter  pride-wounding  would  have  been 
averted.  The  young  woman  would  have  married 
him,  just  as  quickly,  for  it  is  easy  to  make  terras 


240  COURTSHIP. 

before  marriage  in  this  country.  Do  not  promise  to 
do  things  which  depend  more  on  events  than  on 
yourself.  Do  not  promise  to  love  your  future  wife 
always.  She  may  prove  unworthy  of  it.  You  may 
prove  incapable  of  it. 

INWARDLY    MAKE    UP    YOUR    MIND 

to  ennoble  yourself  so  that  your  affections  will  solidify. 
The  companionship  if  a  woman  will  do  much  to  help 
you.  Promise  little  by  word  of  mouth — everything 
by  actions.  Then,  as  your  days  come  and  go,  your 
character  constantly  comes  more  fully  into  the  light, 
and  that  light  is  one  of  broad,  pleasant,  humanly  love. 
Your  wife  will  be  sure  to  live  happily,  for  you  have 
built  within  her  mind  no  extravagant  expectations. 

'  -  .:  / 

LOOK    AT    A    CIRCUS    POSTER  ! 

See  the  absurd  and  ridiculous  promises  made  upon  it ! 
Why  do  they  dare  so  to  humbug  the  people  ? 
Because,  in  no  other  way  could  they  get  people  to 
ride  ten  or  twelve  miles  through  a  summer  drouth  to 
hand  over  their  money  to  the  man  who  is  anxious  to 
get  it !  Here  is  a  man  in  a  chariot,  with  tigers 
plunging  under  his  rein  like  the  rays  from  the  sun, 


COURTSHIP. 

"  New  hope  may  bloom,  and  days  may  come, 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam, 
But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life, 
As  love's  young  dream." 


COURTSHIP.  241 

Here  is  a  pyramid  of  elephants  four  elephants  high  ! 
Here  is  the  acrobat  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke  and 
blaze  of  an  Armstrong  cannon,  beginning  some  flight 
to  a  far-off  trapeze,  or  swing,  in  the  air  !  It  is  some- 
what different  inside. 

THE    CHARIOT    OF    TIGERS 

is  an  enlarged  rat  trap  with  two  sleepy,  disgusted 
overgrown  cats  in  it — cats  which  do  not  thrive  well 
in  this  cold  land,  and  which  do  not  smell  any  too 
sweet  and  clean.  The  pyramid  of  fine-looking  picture- 
elephants  is  an  ugly  live  elephant  or  two  standing  on 
a  beer-keg  or  two,  which  is  a  wonderful  feat  for 
elephants,  of  course,  but  not  an  entertaining  one  to 
human  sight-seers  ;  and  as  a  final  swindle,  the  cannon 
act  is  a  man  on  a  spring  disguised  as  a  wooden 
cannon,  who  is  thus  hoisted  a  few  feet  into  the  air, 
where  he  catches  hold  of  his  swinging  bar  and 
completes  the  usual  act  of  an  "aerial  acrobat." 
"  Fi  on't ! "  as  Hamlet  says  f "  reform  it  altogether  !  " 

DO   NOT    "  BILL   YOURSELF    TOO    STRONGLY  " 

before  your  divinity.  She  would  love  you  if  she 
thought  you  were  just  a  common  man,  like  George 
Washington  or  Abraham  Lincoln  ;  so,  if  you  tell  ker 

16 


242  COURTSHIP. 

you  are  poverty-stricken  and  prodigal,  and  it  be  true, 
then  she  will  think  that  she  had  rather  have  a  demi- 
god, poor  as  Job's  turkey,  than  a  common  young 
man,  like  your  brother  or  your  friend,  with  all  the 
gold  of  King  Plutus  !  Bring  to  her  an  honest  heart, 
and  you  will,  indeed,  bring  treasures  before  her,  and 
she  would  have  no  right  to  complain,  even  were  she 
so  inclined.  Love  does  not  seem  to  be  a  matter  of 
volition— 

/  OF  "WANT  TO,  OR  DON'T  WANT  TO." 
"  No  man  or  woman,"  says  Arthur  Helps,  "was  ever 
cured  of  love  by  discovering  the  falseness  of  his  or 
her  lover.  The  living  together  for  three,  long  rainy 
days  in  the  country,  has  done  more  to  dispel  love 
than  all  the  perfidies  in  love  that  have  ever  been 
committed."  Just  think  of  that  during  all  the  time 
of  your  courtship.  Dread  the  "  living  together,"  and 
when  you  come  to  stand  the  test,  the  test  will  not  be 
too  great  for  you/  A  young  man,  truly,  doesn't 
need  to  be  married,  as  a  full-grown  one  does.  But 

IN   ORDER   TO    REAP   WE   MUST    SOW. 

Our  bachelor  friend  of  forty  wants  to  reap  just  as 
bidly  as  you,  but  his  fields  will  be  waste  while  yours 


COURTSHIP.  243 

will  be  growing.  When  you  get  your  life  insured  at 
twenty-one  they  charge  you  about  ten  times  what 
the  risk  really  is.  Why  ?  Because,  although  they 
have  not  the  least  idea  that  you  are  going  to  die  now, 
they  know  the  mortgage  is  on  your  life,  and  the  dues, 
when  you  pass  fifty,  would,  in  justice,  be  higher  than 
mortal  man  would  pay.  Therefore  they  even  it  up. 

YOU   LAY    ASIDE    A    SURPLUS 

for  your  old  age,  and,  until  lately,  the  courts  held  you 
could  collect  that  surplus,  if  your  contract  were  not 
completed  to  the  end  of  your  existence.  Thus,  in 
marrying,  you  are  following  the  wise  ordinance  of 
God.  You  are  choosing  a  blooming,  healthy  young 
woman  while  you  are  yourself  fresh  enough  to  attract 
her  love  and  hold  it.  You  are  living  as  a  married 
man  while  you  might,  probably,  live  with  more 
strictly  selfish  personal  comfort  up  to  thirty-five  as  a 
single  man  ;  but  you  are, 

AFTER    THIRTY-FIVE, 

immensely  better  off  than  the  single  man,  and  you 
will,  besides,  always  be  given  a  better  place  in  society 
than  he,  because  society  likes  to  see  every  member 
in  its  ranks  doing  his  duty  like  a  man  and  helping  to 


244  COURTSHIP. 

bear  the  burdens  as  well  as  reap  the  benefits  which 
our  system  of  living  deals  out  to  those  who  participate 
in  it. 

IF   YOU   HAVE   THE   CONSUMPTION 

and  the  young  lady  also  have  that  disease,  consult  the 
physicians  of  your  families.  A  very  learned  man,  in 
a  series  of  papers  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  some 
years  ago,  refused  to  forbid  such  marriages  entirely. 
Put  yourselves  especially  under  the  care  of  your 
doctors,  and  follow  their  advice  implicitly.  If  the 
young  lady,  alone,  is  consumptive,  extend  your  en- 
gagement and  wait  for  events.  If  you  yourself  are 
thus  tainted  with  disease,  I  have  little  hesitation  in 
saying  that  it  is  not  manly  to  get  married  until  you 
are  entirely  out  of  the  reach  of  pecuniary  want 
without  your  labor,  and  even  then  there  are  other 
considerations  of  nearly  equal  importance  which 
should  lead  you  to  frequent  conferences  with  your 
family  doctor. 

YOU    THUS    SEE    THAT    "LIFE    IS    REAL, 

and  life  is  earnest."  If  you  are  healthy,  thank  God 
for  it,  and  sing  merrily  while  you  build  the  nest  which 
will  hold  the  mate  in  warmth  and  comfort.  After 


COURTSHIP. 


245 


the  harbor  of  refuge  is  built,  the  ship  will  find  a 
pleasant  and  ever-welcome  anchorage  during  the 
big  storms  outside. 

Take  the  daughter  of  a  good  mother. 


The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell. — BYRON. 


UOTATION  of  this  verse  is 
made,  not  because  it  celebrated 
a  marriage — it,    rather,    com- 
memorated  the   frightful    car- 
nage of  Waterloo — but  because 
it  very  faithfully  represents  the 
fashionable  beginning  of  wedded  life,  to 
which  it  alludes.     There  seems  to  be  in 
woman  an  inherited,  instinctive  desire  for 
this  kind  of  thing  at  her  marriage.     It  is 
cruel  to  deny  her,  therefore  man  usually ' 
goes  through  with  it  like  a  martyr.     My 
prejudices  are  so  heartily  enlisted  against 

"  blow-outs  "  of  this  kind  that  I  feel  the  compunctions 
[246] 


MARRIAGE.  247 

of  an  honest  judge  at  sitting  in  such  a  case.  Never- 
theless, I  may  relate  some  things  I  have  seen,  to  show 
how  badly  a  couple  may  start  in  life.  Here  is  one 
instance:  The  dust  has  filled  the  air  for  six  blocks 
around  some  stately  church.  The  "  hacks  "  and  pri- 
vate barouches  and  coupes  have  been  packed  togeth- 
er so  that  any  movement  was  entirely  impossible  ; 
the  bride  has  come  like  a  queen  of  the  orient ;  she  has 
walked  on  flowers  to  the  vestibule;  there  she  has 
passed  under  an  arch  of  tuberoses;  half-way  down 
the  aisle  a  gate  of  jessamines  and  smilax  has  opened 
with  a  smothering  sense  of  richness;  at  the  altar  she 
has  actually  knelt  on  a  pillow  of  camellias  (fifty  cents 
apiece) ;  and  a  fifty-dollar  organist  has  put  on  his  full 
instrument,  as  though  he  were  proclaiming  the  glory 
of  God  most  mighty,  instead  of  the  folly  of  man  most 
miserable.  Into  the  church  have  thronged  the  elect, 
proud  and  disdainful;  on  the  outside  has  stared  the 
vulgar  multitude,  too  ignorant  for  anything  but  rapt 
wonderment.  From  the  temple  of  high-priced  wor- 
ship the  celebrants  have  passed,  in  a  still  more  exclu- 
sive body,  to  a  residence  where  a  banquet  has  been 
prepared  by  a  man  who  generally  makes  ice  cream  for 


248  MARRIAGE. 

a  living,  and  where  a  dazzling  display  of  wedding 
presents  has  been  uncovered  to  the  careless  gaze. 
Then  the  train  bears  away  the  twain  of  one  foolish 
flesh,  and  the  farce  is  over. 

OF  COURSE  IT  WAS  A  FARCE. 

The  elect  read  the  newspapers  next  morning  with  a 
smile.  None  but  he  of  the  vulgar  multitude  was 
hoodwinked.  The  man  and  the  woman  have  spent 
all  their  money  to  purchase  a  "swell wedding."  The 
presents  were  hired,  so  were  most  of  the  "  hacks." 
The  florist  has  got  part  of  his  money.  The  couple, 
six  months  afterward,  are  "  beating  "  some  poor  land- 
lady out  of  their  board,  and  the  man,  in  all  likelihood, 
will  never  again  be  heard  of.  But  the  women  have 
been  intensely  agitated  by  the  event.  They  have 
never  thought  about  the  subsequent  aspects  of  the 
case. 

NO  ONE  OF  THE  SAME  "  SET  " 

would  be  willing  to  spare  a  single  "  hack "  or  one 
double  camellia.  Why  did  the  young  man  and  the 
young  woman  do  it  ?  They  did  it  principally  out  of 
vanity,  in  imitation  of  some  rich  person  who  desired 
to  distribute  his  money  among  hard-working  folks 


MARRIAGE.  249 

and  at  the  same  time  create  a  feeling  of  envy  among 
his  fellows  and  "  please  the  women  folk.1' 

LET  US  HAVE  THE  MANHOOD  AND  THE  WOMANHOOD, 

if  we  have  five  hundred  or  a  thousand  dollars,  to  buy 
those  necessaries  of  life  which  will  enable  us  to  live 
without  debt  after  we  are  settled  for  life.  We  are 
sailing  out  of  the  harbor.  Would  it  not  be  ridiculous 
for  us  to  heave  into  the  water  our  provisions,  as  a 
symbol  of  our  delirious  joy  ? — would  not  our  ship  be 
a  ship  of  death  when  we  reached  the  middle  of  the 
sea  ?  There  is  just  as  much  joy  in  a  simple  wedding 
which  has  properly  shown  our  respect  for  the  event 
as  the  third  in  importance  of  all  which  will  punctuate 
our  history.  We  have  been  born;  we  will  die; 

WE  NOW  MARRY. 

"  A  man  finds  himself  seven  years  older,  the  day  af- 
ter his  marriage,  says  Lord  Bacon.  "  Men  should 
keep  their  eyes  wide  open  before  marriage,  and  half 
shut  afterwards,"  says  Madame  Scuderie.  "  Mar- 
riage is  a  feast,"  says  Colton,  "  where  the  grace  is 
sometimes  better  than  the  dinner."  "  Mistress,"  cries 
Shakspeare,  "  know  yourself;  down  on  your  kneesi 
and  thank  heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love' 


250  MARRIAGE. 

For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, — sell  when 
you  can;  you  are  not  for  all  markets."  "To  love 
early  and  marry  late,"  says  Richter,  "  is  to  hear  a 
lark  singing  at  dawn,  and  at  night  to  eat  it  roasted 
for  supper."  "  Marriages  are  best  of  dissimilar  ma- 
terial," says  Theodore  Parker. 

"  TO  BE  A  MAN 

in  a  true  sense,"  says  Michelet,  "  is,  in  the  first  place, 
and  above  all  things,  to  have  a  wife."  "It  is  in  vain 
for  a  man  to  be  born  fortunate,"  says  Dacier,  "if  he 
be  unfortunate  in  his  marriage."  "When  it  shall 
please  God  to  bring  thee  to  man's  restate,"  says  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  "use  great  providence  and  circum- 
spection in  choosing  thy  wife.  For  from  thence  will 
spring  all  thy  future  good  or  evil ;  and  it  is  an  action 
of  life,  like  unto  a  stratagem  of  war;  wherein  a  man 
can  err  but  once!"  "We  are  not  very  much  to 
blame  for  our  bad  marriages,"  says  Ralph  Waldo 
Emeison; 

"WE  LIVE  AMID  HALLUCINATIONS, 

and  this  especial  trap  is  laid  to  trip  up  our  feet  with, 
and  all  are  tripped  up,  first  or  last.  But  the  mighty 
mother  nature,  who  had  been  so  sly  with  us,  as  iFshe 


MARRIAGE.  251 

felt  she  owed  us  some  indemnity,  insinuates  into  the 
Pandora  box  of  marriage  some  deep  and  serious  ben- 
efits and  some  great  joys."  "  It  is  a  mistake  to  con- 
sider marriage  merely  as  a  scheme  of  happiness," 
says  Chapin;  "  it  is  also  a  bond  of  service.  It  is  the 
most  ancient  form  of  that  social  ministration  which 
God  has  ordained  for  human  beings,  and  which  is 
symbolized  by  all  the  relations  of  nature."  "  Mar. 
riage  "  says  Selden,  ll  is  a  desperate  thing  ; 

THE  FROGS  IN  JESOP 

were  extremely  wise;  they  had  a  great  mind  to  some 
water,  but  they  would  not  leap  into  the  well,  because 
they  could  not  get  out  again."  Why  were  they  wise? 
They  were  not  wise  at  all.  I  have  seen  frogs  in  wells 
who  are  more  contented  than  they  would  be  outside. 
"  Men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when 
they  wed,"  says  Shakspeare;  but  he  also  says  that 
"  maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the  sky 
changes  when  they  are  wives,"  so  it  is  an  even  tilt 
between  two  forms  of  human  nature.  "  If  idleness  be 
the  root  of  all  evil,"  says  Vanbruch,  "  then  matrimony 
is  good  for  something,  for  it  sets  many  a  poor  woman 
to  work."  "In  the  opinion  of  the  world,"  says  Mad- 


252  MARRIAGE. 

ame  Swetchine,  "marriage  ends  all;  as  it  does  in  a 
comedy. 

THE    TRUTH    IS   PRECISELY    THE   REVERSE. 

It  begins  all.  So  they  say  of  death,  '  It  is  the  end  of 
all  things.'  Yes,  just  as  much  as  marriage ! " 
"Humble  wedlock,"  says  St.  Augustine,  "is  far 
better  than  proud  virginity."  "  Never  marry  but  for 
love,"  says  William  Penn,  in  his  will ;  "  but  see  that 
thou  lovest  what  is  lovely  ! "  "Strong  are  the  instincts 
with  which  God  has  guarded  the  sacredness  of 
marriage,"  says  Maria  Mclntosh.  We  cannot  bear 
this  remark  too  constantly  in  mind.  You  would  not 
dare  shut  off  your  supply  of  water,  because  you  know 
you  will  need  it.  But  you  are  sometimes  tempted  to 
shut  off  your  supplies  of  love  ;  and  men  do  sometimes 
do  it,  and 

AFTERWARD    GO    MAD 

from  clear  soul-starvation.  "  Up  to  twenty-one  I 
hold  the  father  to  have  power  over  his  children  as  to 
marriage,"  says  Coleridge ;  "  after  that  age  he  has 
authority  and  influence  only.  Show  me  one  couple 
unhappy  merely  on  account  of  their  limited 
circumstances,  and  I  will  show  you  ten  who  are 


MARRIAGE.  253 

wretched  from  other  causes."  "  He  that  takes  a 
wife  takes  care,"  says  Ben  Franklin.  "  I  chose 
my  wife,"  says  Goldsmith,  "  as  she  did  her  wedding 
gown,  for  qualities  that  would  wear  well."  "  Before 
marriage,"  says  Addison, 

"WE   CANNOT    BE    TOO    INQUISITIVE 

and  discerning  in  the  faults  of  the  person  beloved, 
nor  after  it  too  dimsighted  and  superficial.  Marriage 
enlarges  the  scene  of  our  happiness  and  miseries. 

A    MARRIAGE    OF    LOVE 

is  pleasant ;  a  marriage  of  interest  easy ;  and  a 
marriage  where  both  meet,  happy.  A  happy 
marriage  has  in  it  all  the  pleasures  of  friendship,  all 
the  enjoyments  of  sense  and  reason,  and,  indeed,  all 
the  sweets  of  life."  "  It  is  the  policy  of  the  Londoners," 
says  Thomas  Fuller,  "when  they  send  a  ship  into  the 
Mediterranean  Sea,  to  make  every  mariner  therein  a 
merchant,  each  seaman  venturing  somewhat  of  his 
own,  which  will  make  him  more  wary  to  avoid,  and 
more  valiant  to  undergo  dangers.  Thus  married 
men,  especially  if  having  posterity,  are 

THE   DEEPER    SHARERS   IN    THAT    NATION 

wherein  they  live,  which  engageth  their  affections  to 


254  MARRIAGE. 

the  greater  loyalty."  "Matrimony  hath  something  in  it 
of  nature,  something  of  civility,  something  of  divinity," 
says  Bishop  Hall.  "  Though  matrimony  may  have 
some  pains,  celibacy  has  few  pleasures,"  says  old 
Dr.  Johnson,  a  bachelor.  Again  says  he:  "Marriage 
is  the  best  state  for  man  in  general ;  and  every  man 
is  a  worse  man  in  proportion  as  he  is  unfit  for  the 
married  state."  "Marriage  is  an  institution,"  says 
-Sir  Richard  Steele  "celebrated  for  a  constant '  scene 
of  as  much  delight  as  our  being  is  capable  of." 

ONE    THING   KEEP    IN    MIND  ! 

When  the  sages,  the  critics,  and  the  people  who  love 
to  say  smart  things,  paint  the  infelicities  of  marriage, 
they  as  often  paint  simply  the  general  troubles  of  life, 
which  are  common  to  all  people.  The  bachelor  is 
more  apt  to  be  kept  awake  by  the  crying  child  in  the 
next  chamber  than  is  the  father  in  the  same  room 
with  the  child.  The  young  man  quarrels  with  his 
landlady  as  often  as  the  young  husband  quarrels  with 
his  wife.  The  young  man  notoriously  finds  his  wants 
as  lightly  resting  on  the  memories  of  those  he  hires 
to  attend  to  them  as  does  the  husband  of  the  most 
careless  wife.  He  cannot  escape  the  sickness  of  life 


MARRIAGE.  255 

with  even  the  good  fortune  of  a  married  man, 
according  to  the  statistics  of  the  Government.  The 
married  woman  is  also  healthier  than  the  maid.  So, 
then,  get  the  critics  of  the  married  state  to  specify  its 
various  unhappinesses ;  then  subtract  from  that 
schedule  all  that  come  alike  to  the  single  state,  and 
you  will  find  that  marriage,  for  its  separate  joys,  has 
not  a  separate  set  of  troubles  in  as  great  proportion. 
The  very  highest  evidence  of  the  usefulness  and 
agreeableness  of  marriage  is  gathered  from  the  well- 
known  haste  in  which  both  men  and  women,  when 

« 
death  takes  away  their  companions,  seek,  in  a  second 

marriage,  a  renewal  of  those  relations  which,  in  their 
opinion,  lend  additional  charm  to  the  drama  ©f  life. 


You  are  my  true  and  wedded  wife; 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. — SHAKSPEARE. 

She's  adorned 

Amply  that  in  her  husband's  eye  looks  lov«ly — 
The  truest  mirror  that  an  honest  wife 
Can  see  her  beauty  in. — JOHN  TOBIN. 


F  all  the  actions  of  a  man's  life,  his 
marriage  does  least  concern  other 
people,"  says  Selden,  "  yet,   of  all 
'  actions  of  our  life,  it  is  most   med- 
'died    with    by   other  people."     In 
fact,  if  people  would  take  home  their  atten- 
tion* thus  so  liberally  bestowed  abroad,  it 
would  enable  them  to  make  matches  of  their 
own  far  better  than  those  which  now  bur- 
den  the  records    of   the    churches   and    the 
courts.     If  a  young  man  and  a  young  wo- 
man can  be  left  al©ne  three  or   four  years,  to  wear 

into  the  new  relations  they  have  assumed,  there  is 
[256] 


WEDDED  LIFE.  257 

little  chance  of  their  being  unhappily  married.  An 
instinct  of  the  strongest  character  brought  them  to- 
gether, and  is  likely  to  hold  them  by  its  own  force. 
Man  is  a  creature  of  habit.  Strip  him  of  his  home 
after  he  has  been  for  four  years  habituated  to  it,  and 
he  will  be  unhappy,  no  matter  how  unpeaceful  that 
home  may  have  been.  Therefore,  if  possible,  have 
your  wife  and  yourself  in  a  house  by  yourselves  for 
the  first  four  years  of  your  married  life.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing  this  is  possible,  and  I  think  a  firm  will,  in 
most  cases,  greatly  aids  the  possibility  of  such  a 
course.  One  thing,  at  least,  is  clear, 

NO  HUSBAND  IS  DOING  RIGHT 

to  admit  to  his  home  as  a  sharer  of  its  comforts  any 
other  man.  It  is  a  common  sentiment  among  any 
two  homeless  young  men  that  the  first  one  who  mar. 
ries  shall  take  the  other  to  live  with  him.  Nothing 
is  more  absurd  or  out  of  place.  I  do  not  think  there 
could  be  so  dangerous  a  foe  to  the  peace  of  the  wife, 
in  case  the  young  man  do  not  think  his  friend  has 
married  wisely, — and  he  must  think  so,  or  he  would 
himself  have  married  her  if  he  could  have  done  so. 
His  criticisms  will  estrange  the  husband's  heart  and 


258  WEDDED  LIFE. 

cool  his  love.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  has  admired 
the  lady,  then  the  situation  is  all  the  more  atrocious. 

THOSE  HORRIBLE  EVENTS  IN  LIFE, 

where  a  man's  home  is  transformed  suddenly  into 
what  has  been  bitterly  but  justly  termed  a  "  hell  on 
earth,"  are  more  than  half  the  time  traceable  to  the 
carelessness  of  the  husband  in  not  throwing  around 
his  wife  those  barriers  which  shall  ever  keep  her  from 
temptation.  The  wife  of  pure  instincts  will  generally 
object  to  the  admission  of  another  man  to  her  home 
as  a  member  of  it.  How  often  her  womanly  and  hon- 
orable objection  is  overruled  by  the  husband  as  the 
mark  of  an  inhospitable  nature.  .Live  alone.  Let 
no  one  see  your  meannesses,  for  the  third  party  will 
remember  and  recite  those  meannesses  where  you 
.would  either  never  have  seen  them,  or  have  forgotten 
them  altogether. 

BE  KIND  TO  YOUR  WIFE. 

If  you  find  this  difficult,  begin  by  making  up  your 
mind  that,  during  the  next  week,  you  will  not,  under 
any  circumstances  whatever,  speak  a  cross  word  to 
her.  Carry  out  this  resolution  as  well  as  you  can. 


WEDDED  LIFE.  259 

Then  the  next  week  takes  off  the  strain.  The  natural 
tendency  of  cross  words  to  misery  will  so  startle  you 
that  you  will  soon  try  it  for  another  week.  You  will 
do  better  on  the  second  trial.  This  is  important  for 
your  own  peace  of  mind,  for,  in  scolding  and  fretting, 
the  average  woman,  if  you  get  her  started,  can  easily 
hold  her  own.  This  woman  is  bound  to  you  by 
stronger  ties  than  you  suppose. 

GO    OFF    TWO    HUNDRED    MILES    AND    SEE  ! 

She  is  also  bound  to  you  by  very  strong  bonds  in  the 
law,  as  you  would  find  out  if  you  deserted  her.  She 
is  also  entitled  to  a  very  high  place  in  your  goings 
and  comings,  as  society  teaches  you.  When  the 
President  is  inaugurated,  there  is  a  front  seat  close  by 
for  his  wife.  The  Chief  Justice  administers  the  oath, 
and  there  is  another  front  seat  for  his  wife,  also.  So 
you  need  not  be  afraid  of  doing  her  too  much  honor. 
Speak  to  her  respectfully.  Perhaps  there  is  a 
youngster  watching  you — you  have  no  idea  how 
closely.  This  youngster  will  try  on  his  hand 
governing  his  mother,  if  he  sees  any  opportunity 
whatsoever.  Just  look  to  it  that  he  does  not  see  such 
an  opening  !  Your  wife  as  you  will  know,  has  cares 


260  WEDDED  LIFE. 

)f  a  multifarious  kind.  Her  hours  of  labor  greatly 
c:  ceed  yours,  though  she  cannot  concentrate  her 
mind  on  one  thing  as  you  can.  She  is  fitted,  by  long 
years  of  inherited  housewifery,  to  do  this  and  then 
that  with  untiring  devotion  to  the  interests  of  her 
household.  You  cannot,  as  a  general  thing,  lighten 
those  legitimate  cares  save  by  your  smiles.  But  you 
are  a  selfish  man  if  you  increase  them  by  requiring 
any  great  amount  of  extra  personal  attention.  You 
will  find  it  her  nature  to  minister  to  you  in  many 
ways.  Let  her  alone  in  it.  Accept  all  gratefully, 
and  do  something  in  return 

BY    WAY    OF    FORMAL    RECEIPT. 

You  will  grow  happier  day  by  day,  and  your  wife 
will  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  neighborhood. 
She  will  be  proud  of  you  because  you  have  had  the 
brains  to  be  happy  and  sensible.  We  hear  a  good 
deal  of  railing  against  the  general  wisdom  of  getting 
married.  There  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  popular  con- 
tagion lately,  making  it  fashionable  to  fling  jeers  and 
jibes  at  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  marriage.  We  find 
young  men  writing  to  the  newspapers  that  it  costs 
them  six  dollars  to  board  singly,  and  that  the  same 


WEDDED  LIFE.  26  I 

• 

"  style "  of  living  and  enjoyment  could  not  be 
purchased  at 

A    "  BOARDING-HOUSE    OF    ONE'S    OWN  " 

for  less  than  twenty-two.  And  again  the  same  sort 
of  writer  will  assert  that  he  can  quit  one  "  boarding- 
house  "  when  he  pleases,  whereas  he  must  eat  the 
cold  roast  beef  and  cranberry  sauce  of  the  other  until 
he  crosses  the  creek  called  Styx.  Let  me  call  this 
young  man  Mr.  Bachelor,  and  reply  to  him  in  about 
his  own  style : 

A    FEW    THOUGHTS   IN    GENERAL : 

i.  A  man  named  Payne  wrote  a  seemingly- 
ordinary  song  entitled  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  This 
piece,  on  account  of  certain  sentiments  conveyed,  at 
once  received  the  seal  of  nearly  universal  approbation. 
It  is  safe  to  say  Mr.  Bachelor  and  the  class  in  which 
he  may  be  placed  were  not  among  those  who  accorded 
extraordinary  attention  to  the  little  song.  He  is  and 
they  are,  therefore,  at  once  separated  from  the  vast 
mass  of  the  people.  Evidently  the  sentiments  of  the 
song  were  based  on  experiences  largely  known  to  the 
general  gender  and  unknown  to  Mr.  Bachelor. 


262  WEDDED  LIFE. 

2.  The  man  Daniel  McFarland  was  so  worthless 
that  his  wife  refused  to  live  with  him,  and,   sadly 
enough,  fell  in  love  with  still  another   man.     The 
worthless  husband,  discovering  that  Richardson  was 
coming  into  property  which  had  not  always  been  his 
own,  resorted,to  an  ambuscade,  and  killed  Richardson. 
To  the  dullest  comprehension  this  act  revealed  a  deep 
jealousy.    Jealousy  is  founded  on    a    solid    fear   of 
losing  something.     In  this  unhappy  family,  where  the 
man  believed  he  had  nothing  to  care  for,  he  suddenly 
awoke  to  find  he  had  thrown  away  a  pearl  richer 
than  all' his  tribe. 

3.  It  seems  to  me  as  natural  for  a  man  to  establish 
a  home,  with  a  wife,  as  to  grow  a  beard  on  his  face. 

SOME    CONSIDERATIONS    IN    PARTICULAR. 

1.  At  twenty -seven  years  of  age  a  man  whom  I 
know  met  the  finest  young  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 
He  wanted  her  and  he  got   her.     Five  years  have, 
passed. 

2.  At  marriage  the  man  found  himself  endowed 
with  a  godlike  selfishness.     This  he  probably  owed 
to  the  the  past  struggle  for  existence.     With  this  not 
very  estimable  faculty  he  carried  to  his  home  a  young 


WEDDED  LIFE.  263 

woman  endowed  with  nearly  the  opposite  faculties. 
She  only  acquired  selfishness  through  association  with 
her  companion.  At  the  start,  then,  they  were  both 
willin'  oxen — one  ox  was  willing  to  do  all  the  pulling, 
and  the  other  ox  was  willing  he  should. 

3.  Now  the  man  had  also  a  high  faculty  called 
judgment.  He  continually  wondered  why  the 
woman  did  not  despise  him  on  account  of  his 
selfishness.  He  soon  discovered  that  it  was  because 
the  woman  lacked  sadly  in  judgment.  The  baby 
would  lift  up  its  voice  in  the  night.  That  baby  must 
be  attended  to.  The  weather  might  be  very  cold. 
The  man  despised  that  fact,  but  the  woman,  because 
it  made  her  teeth  ache  and  her  body  cake  and  cramp, 
feared  the  cold.  But  the  man  also  despised  the  baby 
and  all  its  appertainings — particularly  the  appertain- 
ings.  Therefore,  the  man  debated  within  himself 
that  he  was  very  selfish,  or  he  would  get  up.  Perhaps, 
being  a  "just"  man,  the  way  men  go,  he  really  got 
up  about  once  in  a  dozen  times,  but,  candidly,  he 
would  probably  have  seen  that  baby  suffer  ere  he 
would  have  attended  its  wants  any  oftener.  The 
woman  took  it  for  granted  that  the  man  would  not 


264  WEDDED  LIFE. 

get  up,  and  yet  she  did  not  despise  him.     She  did 
not  have  judgment  enough  to  do  it. 

VANITY   AND   SELFISHNESS. 

4.  A  man's  vanity  and  selfishness  are  present  (to 
a    woman's   perception)    in   every   movement.     She 
likes  them.     They  are  the   characteristics  of  mas- 
culinity. 

5.  The    man   entered   matrimony   with   all    the 
trepidation  born  out  of  thinking  too  much  about  it. 
It  seemed  to  him  like  buying  a  fifteen-thousand-dollar 
horse   on   instalments.     This  is  just  as  it  seems  to 
Mr.  Bachelor,  too.     It  was  a  pretty  good  price,  but 
it    was     a    high-stepper,    a    flyer,    a    beauty.     It 
would  take  him  all  his  life  to  pay  for  it,  and  it  might 
founder  the  first  year.     But  he  had  never  in  his  life 
wanted  anything  the  way  he  wanted  that  woman. 
Mr.  Bachelor  has  not  yet  got  to  that  stage. 

RETURNING   GOOD    FOR   EVIL. 

6.  There  is  little  doubt  that,  speaking  of  man  as 
an  animal,  unchastened  by  the  benign  influence  of 
religion,    "the male   hates   the   sick    female."     The 
female  knows   that.     Yet   in    return    she    exhibits 
toward  the  sick  male  a  tenderness  that  makes  his  hair 


WEDDED  LIFE.  265 

stand  on  end  when  he  thinks  of  his  own  short-comings. 
7.     The  man's  astonishment  at  reaching  thirty  was 
tremendous.     He  found  he  was  changing,  and  that 
marriage  was  evidently 

THE  EXPRESS  PREPARATION  FOR  THIS  CONTINGENCY. 

He  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  a  great  deal.  He  did 
not  then  notice  that  the  air  in  the  auditorium  was 
more  rotten  than  the  midnight  winds  that  blow  over 
Chicago  from  the  industrious  rendering-houses  on  her 
outskirts.  It  is  now  a  real  hardship  to  go  to  an 
ordinary  dramatic  performance,  and  he  thinks  theatre- 
goers are  as  a  class  the  most  discontented  people 
there  are  in  society.  He  used  to  spend  his  earnings 
in  various  other  places  which  now  weary  him  beyond 
measure,  and  are  equally  wearisome  to  those  bachelor 
friends  of  his  who  used  to  keep  him  company,  and 
are  forced  by  single  life,  to  still  frequent  such  resorts. 

THIS    HE    FINDS   OUT 

when  his  wife  goes  into  the  country  for  a  week  or 
two.  Those  two  weeks  are  never  halcyon  days  with 
him.  There  is  a  smell  about  a  restaurant  that  elo- 
quently pleads  the  sweetness  of  home,  and  there  is  a 
lack  of  confidence  expressed  in  a  pewter  spoon  and  a 


266  WEDDED    LIFE. 

general  disinclination  to  believe  that  anyone  is  careful 
molded  in  with  the  thickness  of  the  teacup,  which 
startle  him  at  once  into  a  better  -conception  of  his 
wife's  confidence  in  him. 

8.  My  friend  comes  home  and  finds  his  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  is  tired  and 
cross,  and  doesn't  want  to  sling  ashes  nor  bang  a 
coal-hod.  But  the  sight  of  the  fire  makes  him  feel 
better  at  once,  and  if  there  be  no  fire,  there  are  no 
ashes.  He  sits  in  front  of  a  coke  fire  in  a  grate.  His 
little  girl  brings  his  slippers  and  carries  off  his  shoes — 
or  carries  off  one  shoe  and  one  slipper.  Then  he 
falls  to  thinking  that  girls  are  poor  property  as  com- 
pared with  boys,  but  that  any  kind  of  children  are  a 
pretty  good  investment  against  one's  old  age.  His 
increasing  wonder  is  that  the  whole  state  of  things  is 
so  natural.  His  wife  takes  comfort  in  having  him  in 
the  same  room  with  her.  When  he  is  reading  and 
she  is  darning  socks,  she  is  the  very  embodiment  of 
the  fine  French  expression  "  I  am  content."  She  is 
not  as  beautiful  as  she  once  was.  But 

ALL  THE  ELEMENTS  OF  HER  BEAUTY 

are  still  present,  and  with   a  return  of  the  flesh  she 


WEDDED    LIFE.  267 

has  lost  in  hard  work  she  will  have  all  her  looks.  A 
handsome  woman  is  just  as  handsome  to  a  man  as  a 
handsome  girl  is  to  a  green  young  man  like  Mr. 
Bachelor.  My  friend  is  hugging  the  shores  of  person- 
al expense  very  closely  for  the  purpose  of  having  two 
weeks  in  the  country  with  his  wife  during  the  heat  of 
July.  This  woman's  face  does  not  intoxicate  him  as 
it  once  unquestionably  did.  Neither  does  the  "  Tro 
vatore  miserere,"  nor  the  "  William  Tell"  or  "Poet 
and  Peasant  "  overtures  so  delight  him  as  once  upon . 
a  time.  Nevertheless  there  is  in  him  a  secret  joy  of 
possession,  calm  and  pleasant,  in  contemplating  the 
wife,  and  a  quiet  satisfaction,  in  hearing  the  music, 
that  the  taste  of  his  youth  was  so  thoroughly  good. 

A  WIFE'S  PRAYER. 

9.  When  his  wife  goes  to  bed  she  loves  to  put  her 
head  on  her  husband's  knees  to  say  her  prayers,  and 
he  loves  to  have  her.  He  has  great  confidence  in  a 
woman's  prayers,  and  he  is  disposed,  selfishly  but  cor- 

• 

rectly,  to  believe  the  supplication  is  nearly  dual  in  its 
character.  In  his  speech  he  treats  his  wife  as  though 
she  were  the  wife  of  an  honored  friend.  If  he  talked 
either  loosely  or  coarsely  to  his  wife  he  might  fall  in 


268  WEDDED     LIFE. 

love  with  any  woman  to  whom  he  showed  greater 
respect.  He  would,  beside,  proclaim  his  folly,  for 
woman  has  small  sense  of  humor. 

DEATH  OR  WORSE. 

io.  If  my  friend  were  suddenly  to  lose  this  home 
by  the  death  of  the  wife,  he  would  receive  an  unmeas- 
ured sympathy  from  all  thoughtful  men  not  included 
in  the  small  class  who  never  understood  what  there 
was  in  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  to  set  people  to  humming 
it.  If  he  were  to  have  this  wrenched  from  him  by  a 
sudden  awakening  of  his  wife  to  all  his  faults,  and  as 
blind  an  infatuation  with  the  faults  of  another  man  as 
was  once  extended  to  his  own,  he  would  know  just 
how  Daniel  McFarland  felt.  My  friend  is  induced 
to  believe,  however,  that  his  wife  will  be  strongly  un- 
der his  influence  so  long  as  he  does  not  inspire  her 
with  fear.  He  will  not  pound  her  unless  he  falls  to 
whisky-guzzling,  which,  considering  that  he  does  not 
yet  use  tobacco,  is  impossible. 

SO  MUCH  OF  A  PARTICULAR  HOME. 

By  the  study  of  other  women  than  his  own  wife 
(which  is  a  very  unjust  mode  of  study)  man  learns  to 
hate  women  in  general.  By  observing  his  wife,  how" 


WEDDED   LIFE.  269 

ever,  he  is  inclined  to  love  all  her  sex.  Again,  by 
contemplating  himself  he  falls  into  detestation  of  all 
humankind.  Such  "  men  "  as  young  Mr.  Bachelor 
have  spent  their  time  in  exhaustive  subjective  research- 
es. They  know  themselves  too  well.  They  should, 
in  reforming,  take  an  easy  step  upward,  and,  by  con- 
templating the  good  points  of  Swift's  Yahoos,  some- 
what elevate  their  opinion  of  the  species  which  they 
so  graciously  ornament!  A  green  old  age  is  univer- 
sally admired,  The  color  of  greenness  at  thirty,  how- 
ever, is  not  fashionable.  If  I  have  lacked  in  charity 
in  defending  the  wisdom  of  married  life,  it  is  because 
I  have  seen  too  much  grass  thrown  at  bad  boys. 
When  you  hear  a  fool  prating  of  the  misery  of  mar- 
ried men  as  compared  with  single  men,  answer  him 
according  to  his  folly,  or,  perhaps  better,  answer  him 
not  at  all. 


I  would  not  my  unhoused  free  condition 
Put  into  circumspection  and  confine, 
For  the  sea's  worth. — SHAKSPEARE. 

When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I  should  live  till 
I  were  married. — SHAKSPEARE. 


OTHING  is   further   from   the 
single  man's  thoughts   than  that 
he   will   continue   in   the    single 
state   all   his   life.     He    expects, 
when  the   young   woman   meets 
his  gaze  who  satisfies  either  his  esthetic 
or  pecuniary  ideas,  generally  the  latter, 
or  both,  to  take  that  young  woman  to 
his  bosom  and  begin  married  life.     This 
is  a  natural  state  of  mind,  and  there  is 
no  harm  in  indulging  it.     It  shall  be  the 
object  of  a  few  of  these  pages  to  present 
such  aspects  of  the  unmarried  state  of 
man  as  have  principally  commended   themselves  to 

general    attention.     The    bachelor     has    plenty    of 
[270] 


BACHELORS.  271 

arguments  to  keep  him  single  while  he  is  not  in  love. 
He  thinks  the  arguments  keep  him  single,  good 
fellow.  He  says,  as  I  heard  one  of  them  say  :  "I 
would  ask  the  unbiased  observer  what  there  is  in  the 
world,  after  all,  to  induce  a  man  to  commit 
matrimony.  Some  one  will  say  :  '  To  have  some 
one  to  care  for  him  when  sick.'  This  is  complimentary 
to  woman — indicating  that  she  marries  to  become  a 
nurser  of  the  sick  and  old.  And  must  a  man  endure 
all  the  pains  and  throes  of  years  of  matrimonial 
cyclones  that  he  may  have  some  one  to  stew  his  gruel 
during  the  brief  space  of  his  last  illness  ?  If  a 
bachelor  have  money,  he  will  have  friends  to  care 
for  him,  no  fear,  and  if  he  be  poor,  a  wife  is  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  he  needs.  She  divides  his 
pleasures  and  doubles  his  sorrows. 

HE   MUST   DANCE    TO    FASHION'S    TUNE 

a  palatial  residence,  a  corps  of  servants,  a  livery,  and 
dresses  from  Paris —  for  the  sake  of  having  some  one 
to  receive  and  entertain  his  friends'  wives.  He  must 
support  his  wife's  relations,  and  endure  no  end  of 
feminine  abuse,  which  is  not  always  so  feminine. 
The  world  is  divided  into  two  classes  :  Those  who 


272  BACHELORS. 

are  unmarried,  but  wish  they  were,  and  those  who 
are  married,  but  wish  they  were  not." 

THIS    IS    A    FAIR    SPECIMEN 

of  the  argument  by  which  the  bachelor  convinces  him- 
self that  he  is  happy.  If  it  does  contribute  to  his  peace 
of  mind,  why  should  the  world  care  ?  And  the  world 
really  does  not  care.  When  he  comes  to  have  his 
gruel  stewed  for  him  in  a  hospital,  or,  worse  yet,  a 
boarding-house,  he  finds  out,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  he 
is  really  in  the  way,  and  that,  in  his  life  of  perfect 
selfishness,  he  has  never  secured  that  thing  which 
cannot  be  bought,  yet  which  he  so  yearns  for  now  in 
the  hour  of  his  feebleness,  a  woman's  love.  A  good 
long  sickness  has  greatly  enlarged  many  a  man's 
philosophy  ! 

Still,  it  is  not  in  the  destiny  of  every  man  to  have  a 
wife,  or  to  keep  her  if  he  get  one.  It  is  not  unwise, 
therefore  to  consider  that  state  as  one  of  the  phases 
of  life,  and  to  contemplate  its  various  aspects,  good 
and  bad,  as  we  have  the  other  conditions  of  existence. 
"  A  man  unattached  and  without  wife,"  says  Bruyere, 
"if  he  have  any  genius  at  all,  may  raise  himself  above 
his  original  position,  may  mingle  with  the  world  of 


BACHELORS  373 

fashion,  and  hold  himself  on  a  level  with  the  highest ; 
this  is  less  easy  for  him  who  is  engaged ;  it  seems  as 
if  marriage  put  the  whole  world  in  their  proper  rank." 
"  I  have  "  says  Burton,  the  melancholy,  "  no  wife  or 
children,  good  or  bad,  to  provide  for,  and  am  a  mere 
spectator  of  other  men's  fortunes  and  adventures." 

THE  ONE  GRAND  RESULT  OF  SINGLE  LIFE, 

so  far  as  is  generally  noticeable,  is  selfishness..  The 
chief  lesson  of  marriage  is  self-denial.  Which  is  the 
more  pleasing  of  the  two  traits  ?  When  the 
bachelor  views  life,  he  sees  nothing  good  in  it,  for  it 
all  looks  selfish.  Being  so  deeply  jaundiced,  the  eye 
tints  everything  with  yellow.  At  forty  he  is  heartily 
sick  of  it  all.  Why  ?  Because  he  has  learned  that 
he  has  squeezed  the  orange  dry.  The  faculties  which 
God  gave  him  to  be  pleased  with  when  a  recipient 
have  been  worked  to  death. 

HE  HAS  BEEN  A  RECIPIENT  WITHOUT  CEASE. 

He  has  chewed  on  one  side  of  his  mouth  all  his  life. 
The  teeth  on  the  other  side  have  loosened  and  are 
ready  to  fall  out,  while  the  overworked  molars  on 
the  other  are  about  to  run  into  decay.  The  faculties 
whereby  he' was  expected  to  please  other  people  have 


274  BACHELORS 

become  rudimentary,  and  he  can  now  no  more 
fascinate  other  people  than  he  can  sing  soprano.  He 
makes  an  effort  to  engage  the  interest  of  a  young 
lady.  The  hollowness  of  his  attack  at  once  arrests 
her  attention.  The  ease  with  which  he  speaks  long 
sentences  of  admiration  proclaims  his  long  practice  in 
the  art,  and  the  utter  lack  of  real  meaning  in  them 
He  knows  that  the  girl  will 

LAUGH    BEHIND    HIS    BACK, 

and  it  irritates  him,  and  disposes  him  to  attribute  her 
act  to  "  the  falseness  of  her  sex,"  when  it  is  merely 
her  keen  intelligence  in  such  matters.  The  fact  of 
the  matter  is,  that  though  an  old  bachelor  is  seemingly 
greatly  smitten  with  nearly  every  young  girl  he  sees, 
he  does  not  succeed  in  marrying  because  he  is  a  hard 
man  to  catch.  The  young  woman  takes  his  measure- 
ment. His  devotion  is  overpowering,  but  she  easily 
sees  that  it  is  a  sham.  The  bachelor  looks  at  her 
glove,  and,  instead  of  admiring  the  hand,  as  the 
"  marrying  young  man  "  does,  he  says  "  Dollar  and 
a  half  ! " 

HE  LOOKS  INTO  HER  EYES  AND  FIGURES 

on  the  probable  cost  of  board  for  two.     The  time  of 


BACHELORS.  275 

mating  is  past  with  him,  and  that  young  woman  can 
see  it  "  as*quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning."  He  may  be 
the  man  she  could  love  if  she  "let  go  of  herself,"  but 
his  slippery  words  do  not  mean  "  marry,"  and  she 
"  passes  him  around."  He  loves  to  go  to  pic-nics 
and  church  sociables,  for  he  must  be  amused,  and  he 
hopes  to  find  that  pleasure  in  next  Tuesday's  donation 
party  which  he  did  not  get  at  last  Friday's  rehearsal. 

THE    TROUBLE    ALL    LIES 

in  his  intense  love  of  self.  Society  in  general  regards 
him  as  useful,  and  pities  him.  The  older  women 
generally  suppose  he  would  marry  the  first  girl  who 
would  have  him,  and  he  himself  hopes  to  sooner  or 
later  to  come  across  a  lady  who  is  superior  to  all 
others,  and  who  has  money  enough  to  pay  her  share 
of  the  expense  of  living.  I  wish  him  success,  for 

HE    IS   GENERALLY    A    GOOD    FELLOW, 

and  strictly  a  creature  of  circumstances.  If  we  catch 
the  small-pox  nothing  is  surer  than  that  we  will  have 
it  in  spite  of  our  pride.  If  a  man  is  cast  into  a  mold 
of  events  where  he  is  bound  to  be  taught  nothing  but 
selfishness,  and  to  see  nothing  but  the  selfishness  of 


276  BACHELORS. 

others,  the  wonder  is  that  he  will  assume,  in  the 
matter  of  self-denial,  those  relations,  even  for  a  day, 
which  he  so  assiduously  avoids  for  life. 

SCHOLASTIC   OPPORTUNITIES. 

The  single  man  has  a  fine  chance  to  be  "  a  scholar 
and  a  ripe  good  one."  Having  been  denied  the  joys 
of  a  household  all  dependent  on  him,  he  may  surround 
himself  with  books,  he  may  pursue  investigations,  he 
may  gather  the  ideas  of  the  wits  and  the  thinkers, 
and  he  may  thus  broaden  his  brains  until  he  is  the 
honored  associate  of  the  best  minds  in  his  region. 
This  form  of  happiness  is,  to  those  who  are  within 
reach  of  it,  one  of  the  most  satisfying  within  the  gift 
of  God.  There  is  no  reaction,  there  is  no  sorrow. 

MAN    LIVES    TO    LEARN, 

after  all.  If  the  mind  goes  on  in  the  culture  of  those 
high  qualities  which  have  been  inwoven  with  his 
weak  frame,  it  seems  to  me  his  selfishness  has  been 
well  disposed  of.  The  dollar  which,  in  the  cautious 
mind,  was  begrudged  to  a  wee  toddler  who  never 
lived,  for  a  pair  of  shoes,  has  been  placed  where  it 
has  brought  new  knowledge  of  the  power  and  wisdom 


BACHELORS.  277 

of  God,  the  Creator  and  Conservator  of  the  Uni- 
verse. The  wisdom  thus  born  out  of  selfishness  will 
inculcate  in  those  to  follow  him  the  folly  of  selfishness, 
and  the  tastelessness  of  its  brightest  apples  of  gold. 

BE    KIND    TO    THE    OLD    BACHELOR. 

When  he  tries  to  be  friendly,  give  him  a  lift.  His 
mode  of  life  has  left  him  with  many  advantages  for 
usefulness  which  married  people  have  not  got.  On 
committees  and  in  preliminary  work  he  is  often  the 
best  man  in  the  neighborhood.  At  funerals,  in- 
sickness,  he  has  been  known  to  be  almost  the  very 
instrument  of  the  merciful  Father.  Teach  the  young 
ladies  that  he  is  harder  to"  catch  "  than  they  suppose, 
and  perhaps  they  will  turn  toward  him  a  portion  of 
their  character  which  will  please  him  better  with 
womankind. 

TO  HEAR  SOME  MEN  TALK, 

and  from  experience,  too,  you   would   think   that   a 
breed  of  creatures  born  from  such  women  as  are  now 
.  living  would  be  a  herd  of  monsters,  incapable  of  civ- 
ilization and  refinement.     And  yet  the  world  will  go 

j  <D 

on,  and  we  know,  almost,  that  our  posterity  will  bring 
about  wonders  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  perhaps 


278  BACHELORS. 

even  in  society  itself, — wonders  which  will  even  sur- 
pass the  triumph  of  our  own  generation.  We  are  on  the 
eve  of  both  traveling  and  talking  through  the  bare 
air.  We  are  in  a  way  to  avoid  the  worst  of  our  wars. 
It  cannot  be  that  the  women  who  will  bear  the  men 
who  will  do  all  these  things  are  to  be 

JUDGED  AS  THE  BACHELORS  VIEW  THEM. 

The  bachelor  sees  as  through  a  glass,  darkly.  Being, 
foi  the  time,  incapable  of  the  passion  of  love,  having 
failed  to  exercise  it  when  it  came  upon  him,  he  thus 
rails  at  woman.  If  you  are  young  enough,  watch 
the  events  of  the  next  thirty  years,  and  see  how  they 
will  give  the  lie  to  such  a  tirade  as  this,  from 

THE  SAME  BACHELOR 

I  quoted  at  the  start :  "  Not  one-half  of  our  marriages 
have  unbiased  love  as  a  foundation  on  both  sides. 
(The  love  is  usually  on  the  man's  side.)  A  woman 
marries  for  money,  position,  spite,  pride,  contrariness, 
fear  of  being  an  old  maid,  or  for  a  home  which  she 
thinks  will  afford  her  more  pleasure  than  the  one  she' 
leaves.  Love  is  the  last  thing  to  enter  her  head,  and 
never  her  heart.  Men  of  real  sound  judgment  in 
business  throw  this  judgment  entirely  aside  when 


BACHELORS.  279 

they  come  to  select  a  wife.  A  man  might  better  re- 
main single  than  marry  with  the  chances  nine  out  of 
ten  in  favor  of  his  making  a  mistake  for  life." 

SEE  HOW  LITTLE  KNOWLEDGE 

of  anybody's  good  points  this  gentleman  displays. 
The  young  woman  who  has  worked  at  ironing  in  the 
forenoon  until  her  feet  were  swollen  and  her  head  has 
got  dizzy,  comes  into  the  parlor  in  the  evening,  all 
frills  and  tucks,  all  "  highty-tighty,"  all  full  of  fun  and 
God's  good  humor,  and  impresses  my  friend  with  the 
belief  that  she  has  never  done  an  honest  hour's  labor 
in  her  life!  Pshaw!  she  has  got  more  pluck,  and 
nerve,  and  "  sand,"  than  half  a  dozen  men,  when  it 
comes  to  where  the  need  is !  She  is  going  to  be 

THE  MOTHER  OF  AN  AMERICAN, 

and  Americans  are  not  noted  for  their  servility,  their 
laziness,  their  mediocrity,  or  their  lack  of  brains ! 
For  shame,  then  to  judge  a  young  woman  as  she  ap. 
pears  to  you  when  she  is  anxious  to  get  rid  of  you! 
How  would  you  like  to  be  judged  solely  at  those  times 
when  you  were  "  carrying  on,"  and  "  didn't  care 
whether  school  kept  or  not "  ?  That  is  precisely  the 
way  this  gentleman  has  spoken  of  young  women  a 


UACHKLOHS. 

page  back.  He  thinks  they  love  no  one  because  they 
have  never  loved  him  !  He  never  loved  them,  and 
how  could  he  expect  them  to  be  swindled  ?  Read  his 
remarks  over  again,  and  see  how  events  themselves 
deny  his  correctness. 

HOW  MANY  HUSBANDS  HAS  HE  SEEN 

follow  a  drunken  wife  into  a  gutter?  And,  on  the 
contrary,  has  he  not  seen  the  reverse  of  this  sad  pic- 
ture many  a  time?  I  heard  a  Judge  say  to  a  poor 
woman  once, — she  was  all  scars:  "  I  would  send  this 
woman-beater  to  the  work-house  for  two  hundred 
days  if  I  did  not  know  you  would  starve  yourself  to 
pay  his  way  out."  And  then  the  poor,  foolish,  faith- 
ful heart  appealed  to  his  Honor  to  u  spare  the  man? 
just  once  more;"  she  was  sure  he  was  a  little  the 
worse  for  drink  when  he  misused  her.  What  does 
our  friend  call  this  thing  in  woman,  if  it  be  not  love  ? 
The  being  capable  of  a  wife's  love,  and  a  mother's 
love,  and  a  sister's  love,  is  not  much  in  danger  of  the 
criticisms  of  a  man  who  has  only  a  front-porch  knowl- 
edge of  all  her  sex  ! 


VEN  with  the  best  of  our  philos- 
ophy we  who  are  well  are  unable 
to  command  at  will  the  feelings 
of  those  who  are  ill.  We  lie 
on  a  bed,  racked  with  the  pains 
of  some  passing  affliction,  and  the  chasm 
which  separates  us  from  the  hale  and 
hearty  seems  prodigious.  We  are  led  down 
the  stairs,  out  into  the  sunlight.  The  very 
rays  themselves  sit  heavily  upon  our 
shoulders,  and  nearly  crush  us  to  the  earth. 
With  those  vivid  impressions  of  the  terrors  of  illness, 
we  feel  that  our  brains  will  remain  steeped  in 
memories  such  as  will  enable  us  to  appreciate  our 
health  if  we  ever  get  it  again,  yea,  though  we  have 
hardly  a  crust  of  bread  to  spare.  But  lo  !  behold  us 
once  well  again,  and  we  have  forgotten  our  good 
fortune  ;  at  the  slightest  turn  in  our  personal  affairs 

[281] 


282  SICKNESS. 

we  bemoan  our  fate  as  sharply  as  though  the  whole 
night  had  been  rolling  in  upon  us  through  some  fever, 
or  all  the  blasts  of  the  arctic  world  had  crept  through 
our  bones  in  some  frigid  chill.  There  is  no  boon  so 
great  as  health.  Of  course  everybody  admits  that. 
But  why  can  we  not  attach  meaning  to  it  ?  If  a  man 
rise  in  a  public  gathering  and -say  "I  will  give  a 
hundred  dollars  ! "  he  knows  exactly  what  he  is 
saying,  and  so  do  his  hearers  know.  But  if  he  rise 

behind  a  pulpit  or  on  a  rostrum  arid  say 

t 
"PRESERVE  YOUR  HEALTH 

at  all  hazards  ! "  no  significance  so  deep  attaches, 
though  the  one  statement  is  a  thousand  times  as  im- 
portant as  the  other.  I  cannot  understand  why  we 
are  so  oblivious  to  the  sufferings  of  illness  while  we 
are  well  unless  it  be  a  provision  of  nature  to  keep  us 
from  that  suffering  through  sympathy  which  we 
would  surely  undergo  if  we  really  had  any  vivid 
feeling  for  the  sick.  On  this  earth  each  one  has  to 
do  his  own  suffering — the  King  in  the  palace  of  the 
royal  family  and  the  baby  in  the  hut  of  the  miner. 
All  who  are  well  go  their  way  rejoicing,  even  having 
no  momentary  realization  of  the  state  of  mind  of  the 


SICKNESS.  283 

disabled  associate.  It  may  be  that  this  has  not  always 
been  so,  for  we  inherit  a  salutation  among  our  other 
traits  which  implies  a  desire  to  be  informed  as  to  the 
physical  condition  of  the  body  of  the  person  addressed. 
Two  men  of  affairs  meet.  One  says  : 

"  HOW    ARE    YE  •?  " 

The  other  responds:  ,"How  are  ye?  Are  you 
going  to  be  at  the  meeting  to-night  ?  "  etc,,  the  con- 
versation being  now  under  full  headway.  The 
words  indicate  that,  at  one  time,  they  carried  a 
meaning  which  they  have  lost.  Yet  we  are  not 
worse  than  our  fathers  before  us,  and  are  not  exceeded 
in  the  milk  of  human  kindness.  It  may  be  that  the 
old  form  was  such  a  cumbrous  piece  of  hypocrisy 
that  latter-day  people  have  thrown  it  off  in  disgust. 
Anyway,  there  is  nothing  more  certain  nor  more 
astonishing  than  that  a  well  man  cannot  conceive  the 
feelings  of  a  sick  man,  even  though  he  try,  and  that 
those  who  are  sick  have  to  grin  and  bear  it  all  with- 
out any  very  great  affliction  falling  to  the  lot  of  those 
who  stand  at  the  bedside. 

BEHOLD    THE   STRONG   MAN    IN    THE   FEVERISH    AIR 

of  the  sick-chamber.     Last  week  all  his  clock-wheels 


284  SICKNESS 

worked  with  ease,  and  merrily  struck  the  hours  of 
feast  and  sleep.  Afterward  the  wheels  dragged  a 
little  and  annoyed  him  some.  Suddenly  a  whole 
handful  of  sand  was  thrown  into  the  cogs,  and  the 
cogs  have  beer^..  grinding  it  and  the  hammer  striking 
continuously  ever  since.  His  brain  is  distracted,  his 
soul  is  sorely  perplexed,  and  his  mind  is  like  an  infant 
in  house-cleaning  time,  strangely  in  the  way  and 
infinitely  aware  of  it.  Here  lies  proud-riding  vanity, 
thrown  from  his  high  saddle.  Kindnesses  are  show- 
ered on  him  of  which  he  feels  that  he  deserves  few, 
and  yet  wants  more. 

SYMPATHY    IS    EXPRESSED 

for  him  which  greatly  moves  him,  for  he  is 
accompanying  the  words  he  hears  with  the  ills  he 
feels,  while  the  speaker  is  speaking  a  conventionality 
which  he  would  feel  had  he  the  ability.  The  sick 
man  mentally  resolves  that  all  the  mistakes  of  his  life 
shall  be  corrected  if  he  shall  survive,  and  yet  there 
are  few  who  are  able  to  fulfill  the  programmes  thus 
formulated — frequently  the  thriftless  man  is  more 
prodigal  after  an  illness  which  has  stabbed  his  pride 
with  an  advertisement  of  his  indigence  than  he  was 


SICKNESS.  285 

before  his  great  vow  of  future  economy  was  recorded 
up  on  the  ceiling,  where, 

IN    THE    RIFTS   OF    THE    PLASTER, 

the  Missouri  River  flows  into  the  Mississippi !  Per- 
haps if  the  would-be  reformer  would  take  a  look 
frequently  at  those  objects  in  his  whilom  sick-room 
which  so  riveted  his  fevered  attention,  some  of  their 
old  association  would  return  upon  him,  and  do  him 
good.  The  ancients  practiced  the  memory  in  this 
way.  After  a  course  of  meanderings  through  a  garden, 
each  object  represented  and  recalled  some  piece  of 
knowledge  which  it  was  important  the  pupil  should 
retain  in  his  mind.  "  Few  persons,  "  says  Thomas  a 
Kempis  "are  made  better  by  the  pain  and  languor  of 
sickness ;  as  few  great  pilgrims  become  eminent 
saints."  Here  lies  your  bachelor  now.  He  has 
always  felt  that  when  he  got  sick  he  could  get  his 
gruel  stewed  as  well  by  the  hired  girl  of  his  landlady, 
as  the  French  say,  as  by  a  wife.  He  lies  up  there? 
O,  so  in  need  of  care  and  kindnees  ! 

HIS  BRAGS  WERE  MADE  IN  TIME  OF  STRENGTH, 

and  he  expected  to  have  strength  to  keep  himself  sto- 
ical. But  now  he  is  weak, — weak  and  truly  miser- 


286  .  SICKNESS. 

able.  He  hears  the  people  come  in  to  their  supper, 
go  to  their  rooms,  wash,  run  gayly  down-stairs,  chat, 
go  down  another  pair  of  stairs, — and  then  come  the 
jarring  sounds  of  plates  and  knives  and  spoons,  and, 
worse,  the  sickening  smell  of  victuals.  How  can  they 
laugh  and  joke  when  he,  a  man  and  a  brother,  lies 
sick  of  a  fever?  Ah  !  my  friend,  it  would  not  be  so 
were  you  the  head  of  the  house.  All  would  be 
changed.  The  supper-hour  would  come  with  a 
hush  instead  of  a  clatter.  The  light  stol'n  forth  o1 
the  building  would  leave  the  whole  house  in  gloom. 
And  in  your  selfish  soul  you  would  be  glad,  for  God 
so  made  all  of  us  !  Now  you  turn  yourself  to  the 
wall,  and  marvel  at  the  lightness  of  human  words  and 

THE  GREEDINESS  OF  HUMAN  WANTS. 

You  are  little  to  be  pitied  in  justice — greatly,  in  mer- 
cy !  Lie  there  and  pity  humanity,  for  they  would  be 
all  like  you,  did  not  they  follow  in  nature's  paths, 
where  the  roses  of  the  way-side  hide  more  of  their 
ugliness.  All  I  would  impose  is  that  you  walk  where 
you  will  look  least  hideous,  even  in  your  own  eyes. 

As,  in  Paradise,  when  Milton  was  all  ablaze  with 
poetic  glory,  he  waved  his  more  than  kingly  sceptre 


SICKNESS.  287 

and  thus  ushered  in  the  night — 

Now  came  still  evening  on — 

Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires:  Hesperus  that  led 
The  starry  host  rode  brightest — 

—So  does  woman,  soft  as  still  Evening,  shining  as  all 
the  starry  hosts  with  goodness  and  with  mercy,  come 
into  the  night  of  disease,  and  soften  its  harsh  desert 
with  the  dews  of  her  kindness.  Sickness  teaches  us 
how  good  and  true  is  woman,  how  useful  in  the  world, 
how  necessary  to  our  welfare  and  proper  destiny.  If 
any  man  have  learned  this  on  a  sick  bed 

HE  HAS  NOT  BEEN  SICK  FOR  NAUGHT. 

He  is  a  man  of  progressive  ideas  and  unfolding  nature. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  put  into  words  a  thought  that 
has  ever  had  man's  approbation: 

O  woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
Arid  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light,  quivering  aspen  made; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  ! 

"  It  is  in  sickness,"  says  Hosea  Ballou,  "  that  we 
most  feel  the  need  of  that  sympathy  which  shows  how 
much  we  are  dependent  one  upon  another  for  our 
comfort  and  even  necessities.  This  desire,  opening 


288  SICKNESS. 

our  eyes  to  the  realities  of  life,  is  an  indirect  blessing.'1 
"Sickness,"  says  Burton,  "puts  us  in  mind  of  our 
mortality,  and  while  we  drive  on  heedlessly  in  the  fall 
career  of  worldly  pomp  and  jollity,  kindly  pulls  us  by 
the  ear,  and  brings  us  to  a  sense  of  our  duty."  "It  is 
then,"  says  Pliny,  "  that  man  recollects  there  is  a  God, 
and  that  he  himself  is  but  a  man.  No  mortal  is  then 
the  object  of  his  envy,  his  admiration,  or  his  contempt." 
"  In  sickness,"  says  Shakspeare,  playing  with  his 
prepositions,  "  let  me  not  so  much  say,  'Am  I  getting 
better  of  my  pain?'  as  'Am  I  getting  better  for  it?" 

LET  US  THEREFORE  GIVE  UP  THE  IDEA 

of  those  great  reformations  which  we  formulate  upon 
our  mattresses  of  misery,  and  rather  confine  ourselves 
to  a  few  betterments  of  our  lives  which  are  possible. 
If  we  are  spendthrifts,  we  should  vow  to  spend  our 
money  for  goods  of  more  solid  worth  than  a  taste  of 
this  thing,  a  whiff  of  that,  or  a  sight  of  the  other.  If 
we  are  proud,  let  us  resolve  to  speak  kindly  at  least 
to  those  who  have  been  lately  ill.  If  we  are  stingy, 
let  us  make  ready  to  give,  notwithstanding,  to  those 
who  need  as  badly  as  we  have  needed.  If  we  are 
doubtful  of  the  goodness  of  the  gentle  sex,  let  us  at 


SICKNESS. 


289 


any  rate  thereafter  except  fcrever  their  qualities  as 
a  faithful  succor  of 

THE  MOST  MISERABLE  OF  CREATURES, 

a  sick  man  who  cannot  move  from  his  bed  of  pain  and 
discontent.  If  we  are  impenitent,  let  us  arise  out  of 
our  wearying  couch  respectful  to  those  who  worship 
God,  and  reverent  also  before  God  in  the  presence  of 
other  worshipers.  Perhaps  if  we  aim  our  sudden 
goodness  at  a  lower  mark,  we  may  make  a  record  that 
will  not  entirely  proclaim  (as  the  quick  eye  of  Pope 
has  cynically  perceived)  our  unpromising  folly,  and 
our  unteachable  ignorance  of  human  nature. 


When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  battalions. — SHAKSPEARE. 

But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of  morn, 

And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away, — CAMPBELL. 


ATHERING  clouds  crowd  thick- 
est round  the  tallest  mountain,  yet 
do  their  summits,  far  up  above, 
forevei  gaze  out  upon  the  un- 
dimmed  sun.  So  is  it  with  the  great 
heart  smitten  with  deep  sorrow. 
There  is  no  soul  upon  whom  the  glory  of 
God's  love  falls  more  serenely  and  unin- 
terruptedly. There  is  no  better  friend,  no 
lovelier  associate.  "  Blessed  are  they  that 
mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted."  And 
comfort  does  come,  in  the  broad  and  kind- 
ly love  and  mercy  toward  humanity  which  those  who 
have  known  suffering  so  frequently  evince.  "  Out  of 
suffering  have  emerged  the  strongest  souls ;"  says 
Chapin,  "  the  most  massive  characters  are  seamed 

with  scars;  martyrs   have  put   on   their  coronation 
[290! 


SORROW.  291 

robes  glittering  with  fire,  and  through  their  tears  have 
the  sorrowful  first  seen  the  gates  of  heaven."  "  The 
echo  of  the  nest-life,  the  voice  of  our  modest,  fairer, 
holier  soul "  says  Richter,  "  is  audible  only  in  a  sor- 
row-darkened  bosom,  as  the  nightingales  warble  when 
one  veils  their  eye."  "  Every  noble  crown  is,  and  on 
earth  will  ever  be,  a  crown  of  thorns,"  says  Carlyle 
"  Sorrow,  says  Haunay,  with  rare  knowledge,  "turns 
all  the  stars  into  mourners  ,  and  every  wind  of  heaven 
into  a  dirge."  Sometimes  all  nature  seems  to  condole 
with  animate  woes: 

One  weeping  heart  may  tone  a  rural  scene 
To  sadness.     Reverently  the  trees  will  bend; 
The  little  stream  will  sigh,  with  heaving  pulse, 
And  swans,  in  soft  and  solemn  silence  float — 
Grief's  snowy  celebrants. 

It  is  a  manifest  peculiarity  of  the  human  mind  to 
believe  that  its  sorrows  should  be  more  enduring 
than  they  really  are.  We  have  in  this  phenomenon 
some  of  the  clearest  views  of  our  weakness  and  incon" 
sistency,  for  though  we  deplore  the  destiny  which 
deals  out  so  much  misery  to  us,  yet  we  despise  our- 
selves, and  are  also  thought  somewhat  less  of  by  our 
associates,  if  we  do  not  embalm  our  griefs  and  remain 


292  SORROW. 

a  sort  of  mummy-house  above  ground  until  the  mem. 
ory  of  our  friends  has  grown  faulty  and  unreliable 
when  applied  to  our  affairs.  Thus, 

A  WIFE  LOSES  HER  HUSBAND. 

The  grief  which  she  feels  nearly  crushes  her  spirit  and 
evokes  the  sympathies  of  her  neighbors,  as  well  it 
may.  She  finds  a  bitterness  within  her  heart  which 
it*is  difficult  to  sweeten  into  resignation.  Why  should 
the  blow  have  singled  her  as  its  object  ?  Then,  with 
the  lapse  of  the  days,  comes  a  change  of  the  season, 
and  the  wonderful  climatic  effects  on  both  mind  and 
body  accompanying  them.  She  wanders  into  the 
woods,  and  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  beneath  her  feet 
betrays  her  from  her  dead  husband  for  the  first  time, 

and  her 

/    , 

CONSCIENCE,  THE  SOLEMN  OFFICER 

of  her  moral  nature,  suddenly  arrests  a  little  girl  wan- 
dering in  the  woods  in  search  of  a  butternut  tree 
which  lives  like  a  hermit  in  the  deep  of  the  forest. 
It  is  a  stray  memory  of  herself  in  the  long  ago  !  Ir 
has  wandered  into  her  house  of  grief,  and  when  it  falls 
under  the  hand  of  the  law  she  feels  great  guilt  for 
having  harbored  it.  "O,  my  poor,  dear  husband, 


SORROW.  293 

have  I  so  forgotten  you  ?"  she  cries  in  mental  sack- 
cloth and  ashes.  And  then  the  frailty  of  human  rea- 
son and  action  appear  before  her  and  appall  her. 
The  time  flies  by.  Soon  still  another  season  is  here, 
with 

A  TROOP  OF  LITTLE  TRAITORS,  HAPPY  MEMORIES, 

carrying  her  "  over  the  hills  and  far  away  "  into  that 
dim  past  whence  she  emerged,  all  happiness  and 
health.  The  conscience  now  has  loosened  its  harsh 
rule.  The  memories  play  in  her  brain  like  children 
on  a  lawn,  and  their  merry  music  often  drowns  the 
dirges  still  sadly  chanted  in  her  deeper  soul.  And 
thus  the  winter  passes — not  in  a  whirlwind  of  grief 
as  did  the  summer,  whose  days  she  never  saw,  or  will 
not  know  she  saw,  until  they  come  again  hot  and 
heavy  with  the  association  of  her  bitterness.  But  it 
is  safe  to  say  her  dread  of  those  days  will  exceed  the 
actual  grief  they  cause  her,  and  she  can  soon  look 
back  upon  her  sorrow,  and  say  that  she  has  mourned 

RATHER  NOT  ENOUGH  THAN  TOO  MUCH. 

If  there  be  joined  to  this  a  new  association,  one  that 
nature  and  God  have  both  approved,  then  there  is 
lifted  up  the  sneer  of  the  world,  and  again  the  weak- 


294  SORROW. 

ness  of  woman,  the  frivolity  of  humanity,  is  deplored 
by  those  who  demand  that  grief  shall  co-survive  with 
remembrance.  We  do  not  suffer  so  much  as  we 
think  we  ought  to,  and  yet,  foolish  and  illogical,  we 
call  upon  our  fate  in  a  grand  monotony  of  complaint 
at  the  heaviness  of  our  ills.  The  young  man  falls  in 
love.  His  love  is  not  returned.  He  has  believed 
himself  capable  of  undying  and  unalterable  affection 
for  a  maiden.  Unselfish,  therefore,  it  must  endure, 
whether  she  love  him  or  not,  for 

HAS  HE  NOT  PROCLAIMED  IT  TO  HIS  OWN  SOUL  ? 

She  loves  him  not !  The  test  is  come.  He  must  de- 
spise himself  as  a  shallow-hearted  hind,  or  dwell  in 
extacies  of  adoration  over  one  who  will  resign  herself 
into  the  keeping  of  another,  a  thing  most  detestable 
to  this  young  man.  Either  horn  of  the  dilemma 
shows  him  life,  true  life.  Not  a  poem  or  a  dream, 
but  as  a  range  of  mountains  would  form  if  they  were 
piled  down  from  some  other  world ;  first  a  row  of  lit' 
tie  peaks,  then  monster  heights  arising  where  valleys 
hid,  and  valleys  forming  on  the  points  of  peaks. 

THIS  YOUTHFUL  PEAK  OF  GRIEF, 

the  young  man  finds  in  after  years,  is  but  the  mora 


SORROW.  295 

substantial  bottom  of  two  slopes  which  rise  sublimely 
toward  the  zenith  of  his  life.  He  banishes  his  false 
conceptions  of  the  grandeur  of  the  human  mind.  He 
banishes  an  attachment  which  had  not  a  substantial 
girder  under  it,  and  within  a  few  years  his  heart  is  all 
the  broader,  gentler  and  more  charitable  for  his  young 
sorrow.  Do  not  think  me  underrating  the  poignancy 
of  ill-requited  love.  It  is  no  mean  sorrow.  But  no 
great  mind  ever  was  crushed  under  it.  No  great 
mind  ever  was  crushed  under  any  sorrow  dealt  out  to 
humanity. 

TRUE  GREATNESS, 

after  all,  lies  in  true  humanity,  true  understanding  of 
the  feebleness  of  our  nature  and  our  capacities.  We 
do  not  overload  an  animal,  merely  because  it  evinces 
a  willingness  to  make  an  effort.  We  therefore  must 
not  overweight  our  soul  with  sorrow.  We  must  not 
nurse  our  woe.  We  must  not  have  that  grand,  con 
ceited  idea  of  our  nobility  which  demands  of  us  a 
great  long  future  of  melancholy;  but  rather  must  we 
nurse  our  bodies,  suspecting  our  liver  if  our  soul  be 
heavy,  and  blaming  our  chamber  if  our  brow  be 
clouded.  Then,  if  a  high  intelligence  wait  at  the 


296  SORROW. 

couch  £>f  our  sick  soul,  as  does  faithful  woman  by  an 
invalid,  soon  will  vanish  all  the  clouds,  soon  will  come 
a  brighter  vista  in  the  journey  of  our  lives.  We  are 
as  God  has  made  us,  weak,  miserable  and  sinful. 
Let  us  expect  from  ourselves  conduct  becoming  a 
being  weak,  sinful  and  miserable.  It  would  seem 
that  this  is  the  secret  of  those  great  lives  who  profit  by 
adversity.  They  have  charity,  for  they  have  erred. 
They  have  hope,  for  it  has  been  their  true  anchor, 
never  failing.  They  have  withal  more  consistency 
than  have  we,  though  they  have 

NEVER  MADE  SUCH  HIGH-SOUNDING  REQUISITIONS 

on  their  untried  natures.  Where  they  have  stepped 
into  the  stream  of  their  existence  in  some  new  fording, 
place,  they  have  gone  with  great  caution,  not  with 
an  immature  confidence  born  of  naught  save  foolish 
audacity.  Their  river  of  life  is  an  open  water  before 
their  pleasant  eyes  ;  they  prepare  not  for  a  flood  in 
the  fall,  neither  do  they  make  ready  to  pass  over  dry- 
shod  when  the  waters  come  down  in  the  spring. 
Though  they  have  the  more  mercy,  they  make  the 
lesser  appeals  for  mercy  ;  though  they  have  the  more 
strength,  they  pray  the  oftener  for  aid.  Sorrow  has 


SORROW. 


Page,  291. 


SORROW.  297 

brought  it  about.  Affliction  has  stretched  their  heart- 
chords 

INTO    TRUE    HARMONY. 

"The  safe  and  general  antidote  against  sorrow,17 
says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  is  employment.  It  is  commonly 
observed  that  among  soldiers  and  seamen,  though 
there  is  much  kindness,  there  is  little  grief ;  they  see 
their  friend  fall  without  any  of  that  lamentation 
which  is  indulged  in  security  and  idleness,  because 
they  have  no  leisure  to  spare  from  the  care  of  them- 
selves ;  and  whoever  shall  keep  himself  equally  busy 
will  find  himself  equally  unaffected  with  irretrievable 
losses.  Time  is  observed  to  wear  out  sorrow,  and 
its  effects  might  doubtless  be  accelerated  by 
quickening  the  succession  and  enlarging  the  variety 
of  objects." 

THERE  IS  ANOTHER  AND  AN  UNHAPPY  PHASE 

of  sorrow.  "When  it  is  real,"  says  Madame 
Swetchine,  "it  is  almost  as  difficult  to  discover  as 
real  poverty.  An  instinctive  delicacy  hides  the  rags 
of  the  one  and  the  wounds  of  the  other."  "The 
deeper  the  sorrow,  the  less  tongue  hath  it,"  says  the 
Talmud.  "  Light  griefs  do  speak,"  says  Seneca, 


298  SORROW. 

"  while  sorrow's  tongue  is  bound."  "  The  wringing  of 
the  hands  and  knocking  of  the  breast,"  says  Dr.  South, 
"  or  the  wishing  of  one's  self  unborn  :  all  are  but  the 
ceremonies  of  sorrow,  the  pomp  and  ostentation  of  an 
effeminate  grief,  which  speak  not  so  much  the  great- 
ness of  the  misery  as  the  smallness  of  the  mind." 

NOW   COMES    RELIGION, 

shining  down  into  this  Alpine  valley  of  grief,  not  as 
the  sun  of  the  Alps,  but  as  a  continual  orb  of  light ; 
not  between  a  few  short  hours  in  a  "  long,  long  weary 
day,"  but  as  a  constant  illumination  of  the  soul, 
irradiating  its  beams  out  upon  the  countenances  of 
God's  afflicted,  and  setting  them  before  mankind  as 
a  beacon  for  groping  humanity.  I  know  of  no  more 
perfect  expression  of  the  power  of  sorrow  to  chasten 
the  soul  and  draw  it  nearer  the  Maker  than  is  con- 
tained in 
MARIA  LOWELL'S  "  LAMB  IN  THE  SHEPHERD'S  ARMS." 

I  quote  it  as  giving  that  lesson  which  my  humble 
prose  would  never  teach  : 

i.     After  our  child's  untroubled  breath 

Up  to  the  Father  took  its  way, 
And  on  our  home  the  shade  of  death, 
Like  a  long  twilight,  haunting  lay, 


SORROW.  299 


And  friends  came  round  with  us  to  weep        • 

Her  little  spirit's  swift  remove, 
This  story  of  the  Alpine  sheep 

Was  told  to  us  by  one  we  love : 

2.  They,  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care. 

Soon  crop  the  meadow's  tender  prime, 
And,  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare, 

The  shepherd  strives  to  make  them  climb 
To  airy  shelves  of  pastures  green 

That  hang  along  the  mountain-side, 
Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean, 

And  down  through  mist  the  sunbeams  glide. 

3.  But  nought  can  tempt  the  timid  things 

That  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try, 
Though  sweet  the  shepherd  calls  and  sings, 

And  seared  below  the  pastures  lie  ; 
Till  in  his  arms  their  lambs  he  takes 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go, — 
Then,  heedless  of  the  rifts  and  breaks, 

They  follow  on  o'er  rock  and  snow  ; 

4.  And,  in  those  pastures  lifted  fair, 

More  dewy  soft  than  lowland  mead, 
The  shepherd  drops  his  lowly  care, 

And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed. 
This  parable  by  Nature  breathed 

Blew  on  me  as  the  south  wind  free 
O'er  frozen  brooks  that  float  unsheathed 

From  icy  thrall  dom  to  the  sea. 

5.  A  blissful  vision,  through  the  night, 

Would  all  my  happy  senses  sway, 
Of  the  Good  Shepherd  on  the  height 

Or  climbing  up  the  starry  way. 
Holding  our  little  lamb  asleep  ; 

And  like  the  burthen  of  the  sea, 
Sounded  that  voice  along  the  deep, 

Saying,  "Arise,  and  follow  me." 


'  Tis  a  little  thing 

To  give  a  cup  of  water,  yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  drained  by  fevered  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarea  n  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happiest  hours. — TALFOURD. 


EAL  poverty,  it  may  not  be  im- 
possible, is  to  the  individual,  more 
of  a  question  when  directed  to  his 
country  than  to  his  actions.     In 
Ireland  or  Italy,  it  seems  to  me, 
the  greatest  of  individual  excel- 
lence  in  sobriety   and   economy   may   not 
shield  the  citizen  from  abject  want,  which  is 
a  terrible  thing.     But  in  America  the  man 
who  is  often  called  "  poor "  gets  as  much 
rest  for  his  body  and  quite  as  beneficial  food 
for  his  stomach  as  the  man  whose  wealth  is 
the  wonder  of  the  world.     It  is  a  magnifi- 
cent land  where  there  is  so  much  food  raised  and  so 
[300] 


POVERTY.  3OI 

many  clothes  made  that  a  man  calls  himself  poor  if  he 
have  only  plenty  to  eat  and  wear  !  Our  definition  of 
the  word  "  poverty  "  is  a  marvelous  corruption  of  the 
word.  To  be  poor  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  in 
this  great  land,  one  must  have  either  been  sick  or 
criminally  negligent.  Many  a  clerk  eats  as  much 
and  dresses  as  well  as  Vanderbilt.  What  does  Van. 
derbilt  do  with  the  great  number  of  millions  which  he 
controls  ? 

HE  FEEDS  AND  DRESSES  AN  ARMY 

of  about  one  hundred  thousand  other  men.  If  he 
kept  his  wheat,  it  would  rot.  If  he  kept  his 
clothes,  they  would  pass  into  speedy  decay.  By 
spending  one  hundred  and  fifty  million  dollars  he 
is  enabled  to  secure  services  which  return  an  aggre- 
gate result  of  about  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  mill- 
ion dollars  in  a  year.  Men  have  eaten  up  his  first 
one  hundred  and  fifty  million  dollars,  but  their  works 
are  worth  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  million  dollars, 
and  he  has  fifteen  million  dollars  profit.  Sup- 
pose the  men  took  his  one  hundred  and  fifty 
million  dollars  away  from  him  and  ate  it  up  and 
wore  it  out  in  a  year,  doing  no  work  in  the  mean 


302  POVERTY. 

time.  At  the  end  of  the  year  they  would  begin  starv- 
ing if  they  relied  on  him  alone,  and  he  would  have 
neither  one  hundred  and  fifty  million  dollars  capital 
nor  fifteen  million  dollars  profit. 

VIEWED  AS  IT  IS, 

Vanderbilt  is  really  only  richer  than  other  people  to 
the  extent  that  he  can  gratify  rational  desires  more 
than  others,  and  this  at  once  puts  him  alongside  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  who  have  money  enough  to  pur- 
chase everything  they  can  rationally  want.  In  the 
system  of  labor  for  wages,  Vanderbilt  is  only  a  com- 
mander, haviivr  the  the  largest  force  intrusted  to  his 
supervision — or  paid  with  his  money;  the  thing  is  the 
same.  Almost  all 

THE  ENORMOUSLY  RICH  MEN  OF  THE  WORLD 

have  lived  in  the  apprehension  of  having  the  bulk  of 
their  possessions  seized  by  envious  rulers  or  fellow 
citizens.  Not  many  years  ago  Vanderbilt  suddenly 
bought  fifty  million  dollars  of  four  per  cent  Govern- 
ment bonds,  simply,  it  is  believed,  for  the  purpose  of 
shifting  the  enormous  risk  of  active  employment  upon 
shoulders  which  would  be  less  apt  to  excite  popular 


POVERTY.  303 

manifestations  of  greed  should  the  Commune  bring 
about  its  foolish  and  chaotic  reign.  The  cares  of 
great  wealth  are  a  class  of  the  most  serious  burdens 
borne  by  humanity. 

THEY  SHOULD  NEVER  BE  FORGOTTEN 

in  making  up  the  account  between  the  citizen  who 
has  all  he  needs  and  the  citizen  who  has  to  spare  for 
others  who  will  pay  him  a  profit.  Men  who  have 
lived  in  constant  dread  of  poverty  have  been  aston. 
ished,  upon  being  stranded  on  that  shore  of  ill-repute 
to  find  the  sun  shining  more  brightly  and  the  birds 
singing  more  cheerily  than  when,  driven  with  the 
ever  multiplying  engagements  of  business,  they  had  no 
slumber  which  was  not  an  imaginary  hurrying  into  a 
bank -president's  parlor,  and  no  conversation  which 
was  not  distressing  some  impatient  caller  in  an  ante- 
room. 

BUT  ACTUAL,  HARSH,  GRINDING  WANT 

is  a  nightmare,  a  delirium  of  misfortune.  It  lowers 
the  human  being  at  once  to  the  condition  of  a  brute 
somewhat  of  the  order  of  the  cats.  Men  on  board  a 
ship,  driven  to  despair  by  hunger,  enter  the  most 
wretched  state  conceivable.  The  qualities  of  faith 


304  POVERTY. 

and  mercy  disappear  at  once.  No  man  trusts  any- 
body else.  Each  expects  the  others  to  pounce  upon 
him  to  eat  him,  and  none  of  them  would  dare  to 
sleep  if  he  could,  owing  to  the  certainty  of  his  peril 
should  his  vigilance  be  relaxed.  From  this  baleful 
picture  of  the  lowest  depths  of  poverty  we  may  rise 
to  comparatively  stupendous  heights,  and  yet  be  rel- 
atively poor  as  to  the  consideration  of  other  conditions 
of  life  still  above  us.  Let  us,  then,  view  poverty  as 

A  REAL,  ACTIVE,  "INCONVENIENCE," 

as  the  French  wit  has  put  it.  "  One  solitary  philoso- 
pher maybe  great,  virtuous  and  happy  in  the  depth  of 
poverty,"  says  Isaac  Iselin,  "but  not  a  whole  people." 
"  Poverty  "  says  Lucian,  "  persuades  a  man  to  do  and 
suffer  everything  that  he  may  escape  from  it."  "It 
i  equires  a  great  deal  of  poetry  to  gild  the  pill  of  pov- 
erty," says  Madame  Deluzy;  "  and  then  it  will  pass 
for  a  pleasant  dose  only  in  theory;  the  reality  is  a 
failure."  "  A  generous  and  noble  spirit  "  saysDiony- 
sius,  "  cannot  be  expected  to  dwell  in  the  breast  of 
men  who  are  struggling  for  their  daily  bread." 

"  HOW  LIKE  A  RAILWAY  TUNNEL 

is  the  poor  man's  life,"  says  Bovee,  u  with  the  light  of 


POVERTY.  305 

childhood  at  one  end,  the  intermediate  gloom,  and 
only  the  glimmer  of  a  future  life  at  the  other  extrem- 
ity !  "  "  Poverty,"  says  Euripides,  "  possesses  this 
disease — through  want  it  teaches  a  man  evil."  "  Pov- 
erty," says  Saadi,  "  snatches  the  reins  out  of  the  hands 
of  pity,"  which  is  true  only  in  one  sense. 

MANY  PEOPLE  ARE  GOOD 

who  would  not  be  so  good  were  they  poorer,  but  the 
Irish  in  Ireland  are  perhaps  the  poorest  and  at  the 
same  time  the  most  pious  people  of  whom  we  read  or 
hear.  "  Poverty  makes  man  satirical,  soberly,  sadly, 
bitterly  satirical,"  says  Friswell.  "  Men  praise  it," 
says  Alexander  Smith, 

AS  THE  AFRICAN  WORSHIPS  MUMBO  JUMBO — 

from  terror  of  the  malign  power,  and  a  desire  to  pro- 
pitiate it."  "It  oft  deprives  a  man  of  all  spirit  and 
virtue,"  says  Ben  Franklin;  it  is  hard  for  an  empty 
bag  to  stand  upright." 

THE  SCENES  OF  DARKEST  POVERTY 

in  this  land  of  ours  are  surely  the  results  of  ignorance 
and  folly.  With  the  crops  which  follow  each  other 
in  our  favored  region  of  the  earth,  and  with  member- 

20 


306  POVERTY. 

ship  in  any  mutual  aid  society,  the  industrious  poor 
man  of  America  has  an  assurance  that  no  picture  so 
black  can  be  drawn  of  his  lot  "in  the  rainy  day." 
We  cannot  reform  human  nature.  When  men  cheat, 
steal,  lie,  and  remain  idle,  they  must  sufFeMhe  results 
of  their  deeds,  and,  at  present,  those  whom  they  drag 
down  with  them  must  also  suffer.  But,  with  industry 
and  sobriety  assured, 

THE    FANGS    OF    POVERTY 

have  been  drawn,  for  the  poor  man  in  sickness 
receives  his  support,  and  in  health  contributes  his 
small  share  to  his  sick  brother.  In  leaving  this 
painful  branch  of  so  vital  a  portion  of  any  book 
devoted  to  the  improvement  of  humanity,  let  us  abjure 
each  other  to  fry  from  the  sins  of  idleness  and  waste, 
that  make  this  dark  panorama  in  a  world  which 
could  be  bright,  and  which,  rolling  along  in  its  foolish 
fashion,  even  now  gives  promise  of  exceeding  joy  in 
the  future.  Work  and  save  and  give  work  !  This 
is  the  light  of  the  world,  the  open  sesame  of  the 
millennium  ?  Let  us  come  again  to  the  follies  of 

FALSE    POVERTY. 

How  ridiculous  that  one  should  suffer  from  want  of 


POVERTY.  307 

a  frill  or  a  furbelow  !  "  I  do  not  call  a  healthy  young 
man,  cheerful  in  his  mind  and  vigorous  in  his  arms,  I 
cannot  call  such  a  man  poor"  says  the  eloquent 
Edmund  Burke  ;  "  I  cannot  pity  my  kind  as  a  kind, 
merely  because  the}'  are  men."  "It  is  the  great 
privilege  of  poverty  "  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  to  be  happy 
unenvied,  to  be  healthy  without  physic,  and  to  be 
secure  without  guard."  Is  it  not  ridiculous  for  the 
poor  man,  by  aping  the  habits  of  the  rich,  to  spurn 
some  of  the  greatest  blessings  attaching  to  our  life  ? 
Thus,  as  Dr.  Johnson  says  : 

"POVERTY,  IN  LARGE  CITIES 

is  often  concealed  in  splendor  and  often  in 
extravagance."  The  tendency  of  people  in  comfort- 
able circumstances  to  move  out  of  a  pleasant  cottage 
into  a  brick  house  with  two  inches  of  marble-front  is 
a  sorrowful  one.  We  can  progress  only  through  this 
same  sad  tendency,  but  how  many  happy  homes  are 
thus  ruined  !  It  requires  much  brains  to  count  the 
ultimate  cost.  There  is  hardly  an  article  of 
furniture  in  the  old  home  which  does  not  look  out  of 
place  in  the  new.  There  is  additional  work  to  be  done 
which  had  been  entirely  overlooked.  The  servant  is 


308  POVERTY. 

a  grievious  expense.  We  do  not  get  the  result  of  her 
work — only  the  profit.  If  she  earn  the  one  hundred 
and  fifty  million  dollars  we  get  only  the  fifteen  million 
dollars.  She  must  be  "kept" — must  add  her  clothes 
to  the  wash,  her  meat  to  the  dish,  her  bed-room  to 
the  house.  She  breaks  with  a  smile.  She  scatters 
as  the  sower  who  goeth  forth  to  sow.  From  every 
conceivable  cranny  creep  forth  disbursements — the 
expenses  of  the  rich  man  creeping  like  tigers  upon 
his  poor  but  vainer  neighbor.  O,  pshaw  !  why  will 
men  and  women  do  it  ?  If  those  two  fine  spirits, 
Prudence  and  Economy  look  down  upon  us,  such 
houses  must  attract  attention  only  by  seeming  to 
mark  out  upon  the  earth  they  cover  the  writing  at 
Belshazzar's  feast — 

THE  MENE,  MENE,  TEKEL,  UPHARSIN, 

of  the  nineteenth  century.  I  know  of  an  actual 
instance  of  a  family  being  forced  to  eat  the  bread  of 
charity  within  the  walls  of  a  house  for  which  they  had 
engaged  to  pay,  and  had  so  far  paid,  the  sum  of  two 
thousand  dollars  a  year  as  rent !  What  foolish  thing  a 
vain  human  being  will  riot  do  is  a  more  difficult  problem 
than  what  he  will  do.  If  we  had  no  rich  people  to 


POVERTY.  309 

fire  up  our  self-conceit,  we  would  be  happier,  though 
we  rose  more  slowly  ;  yet  are  we  to  be  despised  for 
being  willing  to  throw  the  blame  so  freely  from  our 
shoulders.  "Poverty  is,"  says  Cobbett,  "except 
where  there  is  an  actual  want  of  food  and  raiment,  a 
thing  much  more  imaginary  than  real.  The  shame 
of  poverty —  the  shame  of  being  thought  poor — it  is 

A   GREAT    AND    FATAL   WEAKNESS, 

though  arising  in  this  country  from  the  fashion  of  the 
times  themselves."  Let  us  shake  off  this  fatal 
weakness.  That  man  is  a  coward  who,  from  what- 
ever reason,  keeps  up  the  expenditure  of  a  rich  man 
a  moment  longer  than  his  income  will  warrant  it. 

"POVERTY  is  ONLY  CONTEMPTIBLE 
when  it  is  felt  to  be  so,"  says  Bovee.  "  That  man," 
says  Bishop  Paley,  "is  to  be  accounted  poor,  of 
whatever  rank  he  be,  who  suffers  the  pains  of  poverty, 
whose  expenses  exceed  his  resources ;  and  no  man, 
properly  speaking,  poor,  but  he."  "  The  poor  are 
only  they  who  seem  poor,"  says  Emerson,  "and 
poverty  consists  in  feeling  poor."  Doubtless  you  are 
familiar  with  the  story  of  the  unhappy  Sultan  to 
whom  the  Magi,  traveling  from  the  East  to  his  relief, 


JPOVERTY. 

could  give  no  hope  unless  he  could  get  and  wear 
the  shirt  of  a  happy  man.  Proclamation  went  forth 
to  all  the  lands  of  the  empire,  offering  glittering 
rewards  for  a  happy  man.  At  last  learned  doctors 
and  experts,  who  had  gone  out  into  the  outer  regions, 
brought  in  a  shepherd,  who  was  vowed  to  be  an 
entirely  happy  man.  But  lo  !  when  he  came  before 
the  Magi,  it  was  found  that 

HE    HAD    NO    SHIRT  ! 

The  men  who  have  caught  this  circling  planet  in 
the  palms  of  their  hands,  as  God  grasps  the  inconceiv- 
able universes,  were  born  poor  and  struggled  in 
adversity ;  the  men  who  have  throttled  the  fiery 
lightning,  and  chained  the  fire  and  the  water  into 
willing  servitude,  were  poor  boys  ;  the  men  who 
have  developed  the  human  imagination  into  a  thing 
almost  perfect  and  unapproachable  were  poor  boys  ; 
the  men  who  have  led  millions  of  their  Maker's  feet, 
were  poor  both  in  youth  and  age.  Bear  it  then,  in 
mind,  that  all  honorable  endeavors  to  ease  the  yoke  «  M 
life  are  good;  that  all  repinings  whatsoever  are  totally 
ridiculous,  and  mostly  dishonorable. 


Vet  I  douljt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns. 

TENNYSON. 


NE  of  the  pillars  upon  which  the 
atheists  and  social  iconoclasts  and 
demolishers  base  their  erroneous 
philosophy  is  a  seeming  belief  that  the 
men  of  to-day  work  harder  fora  liv- 
ing than  the  men  of  olden  times.  Now  I  will 
lay  hold  of  this  pillar,  and,  although  I  be 
not  Samson,  I  may  yet  hope  to  rend  an  ill- 
constructed  edifice.  With  the  aid  of  a  few 
figures  and  a  little  history  the  mind  may 
possibly  discern,  through  the  centuries  be- 
hind us,  some  evidence  of  that  progress  which  Victor 
Hugo  has  called  "  the  stride  of  God."  . 

It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  poor  man,  dur- 
ing the  period  of  his  veritable  history,  has  always, 
when  not  suffering  severe  privation,  eaten  nearly  the 
same  amount  of  food  in  any  given  number  of  hours. 

3" 


312          FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS. 

We  may,  I  think,  judge  of  the  amount  of  work  cast 
to  his  lot  if  we  can  find  the  ruling  values  of  several  of 
the  articles  of  food  which  have  contributed  to  sustain 
his  life.  I  have  chosen  the  earlier  civilization  of 
England  in  my  examples,  not  because  the  Book  of 
Exodus,  the  Pyramids,  and  the  temples  of  Baalbec 
and  Karnac  fail  to  betray  the  needed  evidences 
of  almost  super  human  toil,  but  because  the  authori- 
ties at  my  disposal  touching  upon  earlier  times  fail 
to  furnish  me 

THE   SATISFACTORY    COMMERCIAL   DATA 

also  needed  as  a  parallel.  Let  us,  then,  put  our  la- 
borer in  England  in  the  year  1350.  He  had  at  that 
time  so  far  progressed  that,  under  certain  very 
restricted  circumstances,  his  life  was  preserved,  and 
he  was  allowed  to  earn  wages  for  his  labor.  He 
worked  fourteen  hours  for  a  legal  day's  work  in  winter 
and  fifteen  hours  in  summer,  but  I  have  everywhere 
in  the  following  statements  computed  his  hours  as 
fourteen.  If  he  were  a  common  laborer-  he  received 
one  penny.  If  he  were 

A  SKILLED   FIELD    HAND, 

he  could  earn  three   times   as   much   money.     The 


FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS.          313 

English  penny  is  to-day  a  very  large  copper  coin,  be- 
ing worth  two  cents,  but  in  those  times  it  weighed 
three  times  as  much  as  to-day,  as  did  all  current  coins. 
In  addition  to  this  great  weight,  money  was  very 
scarce,  and  fully  six  or  seven  times  as  valuable  in 
many  commodities  as  to-day.  We  will  not  err  far  in 
calling  the  laborer's  penny  forty  American  cents.  In 
1350,  then,  the  skilled  laborer  earned  3  pence  in  a 
day.  He  paid  of  his  dear  money,  I  shilling  10*^ 
pence  for  a  bushel  of  wheat,  and  £i  4  shillings  6 
pence  for  an  ox.  This  means  that  he  paid  eight  days' 
(i  1 2  hours')  labor  for  his  bushel  of  wheat,  and  98 
days'  (1372  hours')  labor  for  his  ox.  The  ox  would 
to-day  rate  far  below  a  "  scalawag "  at  the  Stock 
Yards  of  Chicago  or  East  St.  Louis,  weighing,  per- 
haps, 400  pounds. 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  LATER, 

in  1550,  the  same  kind  of  a  laborer  earned  4  pence 
in  a  day.  He  paid  i  shilling  io*4  pence  for  a  bush- 
el of  wheat  and  £i  16  shillings  7  pence  for  an 
ox.  This  means  that  he  paid  nearly  six  days'  (about 
80  hours')  labor  for  his  bushel  of  wheat,  and  no 
days'  (1540  hours')  labor  for  his  ox.  The  high  price 


314          PACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS. 

of  the  latter  was  justified  by  its  great    improvement 
in  weight  and  quality. 

IN  THE  FORTY-THIRD  YEAR  OF  ELIZABETH 

the  coinage  was  lowered  to  about  its  present  weight. 
In  1675,  therefore,  we  see  the  laborer  getting  7  */£ 
pence  for  a  day's  service.  But  he  was  compelled  to 
pay  4  shillings  6  pence  for  a  bushel  of  wheat, 
and  £3  6  shillings  for  an  ox.  He  thus  was  going 
backward,  for  temporary  reasons,  however,  and  had 
to  pay  seven  days'  (98  hours')  labor  for  his  bushel 
of  wheat  and  no  days'  (1540  hours')  labor  for 
his  ox.  The  ox  had  twice  as  much  beef  on  him  as 
the  ox  of  1350. 

AND  STILL  FOR  ANOTHER  HUNDRED  YEARS, 

the  march  of  the  laborer  upward  was  retarded  by 
wars,  famines,  and  "deaths,"  as  their  plagues  were 
called.  In  1795,  one  of  the  darkest  of  those  dark 
years,  we  find  the  skilled  laborer  receiving  i  shilling 
5*4  pence  per  day  (still  of  fourteen  hours  in  winter, 
fifteen  in  summer).  He  paid  7  shillings  10  pence  for 
a  bushel  of  wheat  and  £16  8  shillings  for  an  ox. 
This  means  that  he  paid  five  days'  (70  hours')  labor 
for  his  bushel  of  wheat  and  119  days'  (1666  hours') 


FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS.          315 

labor  for  his  ox.     The  ox  was  what   is   technically 
called  "a  fair  critter." 

TO-DAY  THE  SAME  LABORER, 

working  ten  hours  a  day — counting  all  the  perquisites 
which  have  fallen  to  his  lot, — the  crumbs  from  the 
tables  of  his  prosperous  superiors, — the  same  laborer, 
I  say,  gets  3  shillings  a  day.  He  pays  6  shillings  for 
a  bushel  of  wheat  and  £12  for  an  ox.  This  means 
that  he  pays  two  days'  (twenty  hours')  labor  for 
his  bushel  of  wheat  and  80  days'  (800  hours')  labor 
for  his  ox.  The  ox  rates  better  than  a  butchers' 
"  beast,"  as  the  English  say.  In  the  meantime, 

THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  LABORER 

have  sailed  across  the  ocean  and  settled  in  a  land 
where  the  fields  yield  steady  harvests  and  where  the 
genius  of  the  inventor  has  exceeded  with  its  results 
the  wonders  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  In  this  land  of 
freedom  and  plenty  the  day  laborer  gets  $1.50  a  day. 
He  pays  90  cents  to  $1.30  for  a  bushel  of  wheat,  and 
if  he  desire  such  food,  he  can  pay  $80  for  a  monster 
ox  weighing  1600  pounds.  He  thus  pays  less  than  a 
day's  labor  of  ten  hours  for  his  bushel  of  wheat,  and 
about  fifty-three  days'  (530  hours')  labor  for  his  ox. 


316          FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS. 

He  does  not  need  this  high  grade  of  meat,  however, 
as  few  English  laborers  ever  buy  from  even  the  round 
of  such  beef,  and  no  ordinary  American  householder 
in  city  or  country  gets  as  good  once  a  year. 

PROGRESS  IN  FIVE  HUNDRED  YEARS. 

We  thus  see  the  condition  of  the  laboring  man  rise, 
in  five  hundred  years,  from  112  hours'  labor 
for  sixty  pounds  of  wheat  to  about  six  or  seven 
hours'  work,  and  from  1372  hours'  labor  for  400 
pounds  of  beef  to  267  hours'  labor  for  the  same 
weight  of  better  food  ! 

But  the  atheist  will  say  that  the  laborer  of  the  olden 
time  did  not  work,  and  got  along  by  hook  or  crook ; 
that,  as  it  was  a  miracle  if  he  lived  with  such  wages, 
anyway,  he  had  every  inducement  to  become  a  vag- 
abond. But  all  this  had  "  been  seen  to."  Such  things 
are  never  unforeseen. 

FOR  INSTANCE : 

"  Here  is  a  package  of  worm-medicine  which, 
for  one  dollar  will  save  the  life  of  your  child. 
Will  you  have  it?  No!!  you  will  not  pay 
one  single  dollar  to  save  the  life  of  your  little 


FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS.          317 

child !  Here  is  a  man,  who,  for  one  standard  dol- 
lar, in  silver,  worth  intrinsically  less  than  90  cents, 
will  let  his  child  be  lowered  into  the  grave — will  lis 
ten  to  the  clods  falling  on  its  little  coffin  !  But  ah! 
1  am  provided  against  such  men  !  They  cannot  es- 
cape me  !  Here  is  a  smaller  package  which  will  save 
your  child's  life  for  fifty  cents.  It  is  yours.  "Death 
has  missed  his  mark ! "  Now,  with  the  inevitable 
forethought  of 

THIS  VERMIFUGE  FIEND 

whom  I  have  quoted,  the  law-  makers  of  those  days 
also  saw  to  it  that  the  laborer  should  not  escape  the 
original  terms  of  Eve's  surrender  to  "that  first  grand 
thief  who  clomb  into  God's  fold."  Under  a  statute  of 
Richard  II.  the  laborer  was  forbidden  to  remove  from 
one  part  of  the  kingdom  to  another,  or  to  otherwise 
seek  to  raise  the  price  of  his  labor.  This  law  stood 
for  centuries,  and  was  reiterated  in  the  seventeenth 
George  II.  and  the  thirty-second  George  III.,  along 
with  fixed  wages  for  services  rendered.  Personal  lib- 
erty was  held  to  be  the  privilege  of  the  proprietary 
class.  By  a  statute  of  Henry  VIII.  (1536),  Chil- 
dren of  five  years  and  up,  were  compelled 


318        .   FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS. 

to  labor.  A  man  able  to  work  who  refused 
a  proffer  of  work  was,  according  to  law,  drag- 
ged to  the  nearest  town  on  a  hurdle,  stripped, 
and  whipped  through  the  town  until  his  body  was 
covered  with  blood.  For  a  second  offense  his  right 
ear  was  cut  off  and  he  received  the  bastinado.  For  a 
third  offense  he  was  put  to  death.  An  act  passed 
under  Edward  VI.  (1555)  provided  that  the  able- 
bodied  laborer  refusing  work  should  be  branded  on 
the  breast  with  the  letter  V  and  adjudged  to  the  in- 
former as  his  slave  for  two  years.  The  master  might 
fasten  a  ring  about  the  neck,  arm,  or  leg. 

REFORM. 

Under  William  IV.,  by  the  act  of  1832,  the  labor- 
ing hours  of  children  were  reduced  to  ten  hours.  By 
the  act  of  1847  women  were  included  in  the  ten-hour 
law.  By  1867  the  power  of  the  English  working 
man  had  secured  the  permanence  of  a  custom  making 
ten  hours  a  day's  work.  In  the  factories  of  Notting- 
ham, England,  the  men  make  as  high  as  fourteen  dol- 
lars a  week.  Improved  machinery  has  raised  their 
wages.  At  the  spinning  machines  which  formerly 
required  two  men,  who  each  received  $4.50  a  week, 


FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS.  319 

there  is  now  required  one  man,  who  gets  $6.25.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century  the  workman  in 
these  mills  earned  4^  shillings  a  week.  At  the  pres- 
ent day  he  earns  10^  shillings,  with  twenty-four 
hours'  less  labor. 

THE  ENGLISH  FIELD-LABORER 

who  now  earns  3  shillings  a  day  spends,  for  a  family 
of  eight,  15  shillings  a  week  in  bread,  cheese,  butter, 
washing,  tea,  sugar  and  schooling.  How  much  cheese, 
tea,  butter,  washing,  sugar  and  schooling  did  our 
friend  and  his  cubs  of  the  fourteenth  century  enjoy? 

Invention  and  economy  are  keeping  far  in  advance 
of  the  effects  of  growth  in  population.  In  1766  Eng- 
land and  Wales  had  but  8,500,000  inhabitants;  now, 
there  are  25,000,000.  The  same  thing  is 

TRUE  OF  AMERICA. 

I  have  for  authorities  "England,  Political  and  So- 
cial by  August  Laugel,  private  secretary  of  the  Due 
d'  Aumale,  Notes  and  Queries,  No  "283,  Green's 
"  History  of  the  English  People,"  "Froude's  History 
of  England,"  and  current  numbers  of  the  Mark  Lane 
Ex-press. 


320  FACTS  ABOUT  PROGRESS. 

In  the  terms  applied  to  the  laborer,  from 
pariah,  helot,  servus,  serf,  knecht,  thrall,  slave, 
villain,  peasant,  and  laborer,  to  artisan  and  working- 
man — there  is  a  vision  of  progress  as  bright  as  the 
light  which  fell  upon  Saul  of  Tarsus  as  he  journeyed 
toward  Damascus. 

To  the  man  whose  whole  mind  is  given  to  the 
work  he  does,  the  time  goes  swiftly.  Many  a  man 
whom  success  has  translated  from  the  grocery,  the 
plow-factory,  the  farm,  to  the  matting  and  the  yellow 
bedsteads  of  the  seaside  hotel,  finds  that  he  was  hap- 
pier at  home,  when  he  was  poor,  and  that  he  was 
then  often  far  more  comfortable  in  body. 

THE  ATHEIST 

does  not  "  look  upon  a  beautiful  face  and  see  a  grin- 
ning skull."  He  must  not,  then,  gaze  upon  the  freest 
body  of  workingmen  of  all  the  ages  and  see  but  a 
chain  of  quarry-slaves  scourged  to  their  dungeons. 

"God  is  a  worker,     He  has  thickly  strewn 
Infinity  with  grandeur.     God  is  love  ; 
He  yet  shall  wipe  away  Creation's  tears, 
And  all  the  worlds  shall  summer  in  His  smile." 


MACBETH,  If  we  should  fail— 

LADY  MACBETH.  We  fail! 

But  screw  your  courage  lo  the  sticking-place, 
And  we'll  not  fail. — SHAKSPEARE. 


>OU  see  that  scrag  over  m  the 
woods  there  ?     Crack  !  goes  the 
lightning  !     The  scrag  has  been 
hit  again  !    Unfortunate  !     Now,  per- 
haps you  know  somebody  who  is  a 
scrag  in  society.     When  the  thunder 
storms  of  life  roll  and  rumble,  tell  him 
to  look  well  to  himself.     He  is  very  liable 
to  another  dose  of  disaster.     Why  is  this  ? 
The  reason  is  plain.     There  is  some  partic- 
ular attraction  for  the  bolt  which  hits  him. 
There  is  a  loadstone  of  reason  -in  the  earth 
at  his  roots  for  this   constant   attack   of  misfortune. 

However  badly  off  he  may  be,  something  still  worse 

[321] 

21 


322  FAILURE  IN  LIFE. 

will  happen  to  him.  If  he  have  something  profitable 
to  do  with  his  hands,  he  will  get  a  felon  on  his 
finger.  If  he  have  walking  to  do,  he  will  get  a  peeled 
heel.  If  he  have  only  to  sit  and  attend  to  a  certain 
thing,  he  will  get  the  brain  fever.  If  he  be  expected 
at  seven  in  the  morning,  his  child  will  suffer  an  attack 
of  croup  at  6  :  45.  The  lightning  is  darting  around 
him  silently  all  the  time,  a  good  deal  like  the  move- 
ments of  a  snake's  tongue.  After  all,  it  is  a  scrag 
that  has  been  struck,  and  every-body  laughs  and 
seems  to  think  it  a  good  joke.  It  is,  indeed,  close  to 
the  ridiculous  to  see  the  number  of  undoubted  afflic- 
tions which  will  beset 

"A  REAL  OLD  FAILURE  IN    LIFE." 

He  is  a  good  old  fellow.  He  hates  with  a  mortal 
hate  only  one  thing,  and  that  is  hard  work  ;  that 
will  make  him  deliriously  ill  inside  of  three  days. 
The  boils,  and  felons,  and  fevers,  and  chilblains,  and 
fractures,  and  bereavements  he  has  had  are  enough  to 
fill  an  encyclopedia.  He  never  has  worked  long  at 
any  one  thing,  and  he  never  will.  He  can  relate  to 
you  how  the  lightning  broke  off  his  biggest  limb, 
knocked  off  his  bark,  broke  him  off  half-way  up> 


FAILURE  IN  LIFE.  323 

finally  split  him  clear  through  the  trunk,  and  never 
hit  another  tree  in  the  whole  piece  of  timber  !  This 
will  bring  tears  to  his  eyes,  for  it  seems  so  strange  to 
him.  But  if  you  get  tears  in  your  eyes,  also,  hire  him 
by  the  day  for  a  while,  and  look  into  "  the  pulse  of 
the  machine,"  you  will  soon  understand  the  won- 
derful workings  of  society,  and  the  nicety  of  that 
order  of  things  which  separates  the  wheat  from  the 
tare.  When  the  winds  of  adversity  sweep  down 
upon  us, 

IT  IS  THE  CHAFF  WHICH    RISES  ON  THE  GALE. 

Many  a  man  with  a  bilious  attack  coming  upon  his 
system  goes  to  his  work,  sets  his  blood  dancing,  and, 
drives  away  the  intruder  before  the  reinforcements  of 
the  disease  arrive.  The  failure  goes  out  to  the  enemy, 
makes  a  weak  parley,  and  opens  his  gates  to  the  first 
squad  that  will  enter. 

WHAT  CAN  WE  DO  FOR  THESE  RANK  FAILURES? 

Nothing.  We  can  take  warning  from  them.  "  A 
failure  establishes  only  this,"  says  Bovee,  "  that  our 
determination  was  not  strong  enough."  This  is  very 
nearly  the  truth.  We  fail  because  we  feel  the  game 
to  be  hardly  worth  the  candle.  We  are  not  willing 


324  FAILURE  IN  LIFE. 

to  pay  the  price  and  the  value  of  success.  We  had 
rather  slide  down  the  hill  than  climb  up  higher. 
When  you  hit  your  head  against  a  door  in  the  dark, 
you  are  stunned.  You  are  then  twice  as  likely  as  be- 
fore to  hurt  yourself.  Bear  that  in  mind.  Stop. 
Move  with  the  greatest  of  caution. 

THIS  IS  WHY  SHAKSPEARE  SAYS 

that  when  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
but  in  battalions.  When  you  have  failed,  try  and 
get  a  new  start,  clear  of  the  consequences  of  the  last 
disaster.  You  know  exactly  where  you  erred,  and 
can  guard  against  the  weak  places  in  your  judgment, 
the  cause  of  your  defeat.  Above  all,  study  the 
"  dead  rank  failure "  in  your  community,  and  do 
everything  precisely  opposite  to  the  way  he  invariably 
operates. 


Virtue  without  success 
Is  a  fair  picture  shown  by  an  ill  light ; 
But  lucky  men  are  favorites  of  heaven  : 
All  own  the  chief,  when  fortune  owns  the  cause. — DRYDKN. 


UCKY    men  are  favorites  of 
heaven,   simply    because    they 
have  been  endowed  with  that 
charming  blindness  which  keeps 
them  from  seeing  when   they 
are  whipped  in  the  battle  of  life. 
The  man  of  success  has  usually  a  greater 
sense  of  the  value  of  a  ten-dollar  note  than 
his  clerk  who,    like   the   braggart  Pistol, 
has  got  the  world  for  his   oyster,  and  ex- 
pects to  open  that  tough  old  mollusk  with 
his  rusty  sword.     The  man  of  success  sees 

each  young  helper  around  him  given  better 

[325] 


326  GAINS  AND  BRAINS. 

opportunities  than  he  himself  had  to  begin  with.  His 
astonishment  that  inexperienced  young  men  should 
think  they  have  no  chance  is  always  noticeable.  He 
half-envies  some  stripling  soldier  in  the  battle  who  is 
yet  a  high  private  in  the  rear  rank.  The  high  pri- 
vate cannot  understand  how  this  envy  can  be  possible, 
and  will  not  believe  it  exists.  If  you  will  study  the 
lucky  man  you  will  see  that  his  "  luck  "  is  usually 
more  of  a  matter  of  course  than  an  extraordinary 
happening.  Reverse  the  thing,  and  you  can  compre- 
hend it.  Here  is  a  brakeman.  He  gets  killed  by 
the  cars. 

WAS  IT  NOT  ASTONISHING? 

Well,  yes,  it  was;  still,  if  anybody  were  going  to  be 
killed,  the  brakeman  would  be  the  most  likely  to  be 
the  victim.  Go  to  the  accident  insurance  office  and 
observe  how  little  anxious  they  are  to  take  such  a  risk, 
and  what  an  enormous  premium  they  ask  when  they 
do  take  one  !  Here  is  a  man  running  a  powder-fac- 
tory. The  insurance  men  will  not  touch  him  at  all  ! 
Now  our  man  of  success  is  like  the  brakeman,  in  a 
sense.  He  is  always  on  the  train,  always  between 
the  cars,  always  standing  in  the  frog.  If  any  such 


GAINS  AND  BRAINS.  327 

thing  as  luck  is  out,  it  must  hit  him,  or  some  other 
brakeman  like  him.  Certainly,  it  will  not  touch  the 
man  asleep  in  his  house 

HALF  *A  MILE  FROM  THE  TRACK  ! 

You  have  a  very  small  chance  to  draw  money  in  a 
lottery,  and  it  is  a  very  foolish  thing  to  throw  away 
earnings  buying  tickets — yet  of  two  fools  who  ex- 
pected to  draw  the  grand  prize,  that  one  would  be 
the  greatest  who  had  no  ticket  in  the  lottery  !  The 
man  of  success  wants  something  to  strike  around  his 
premises.  He,  therefore,  has  got  conductors  of  the 
celestial  fluid  on  his  house,  and  on  his  barns.  His 
chicken-coops,  his  corn-cribs  point  to  heaven,  and 
even  the  stumps  in  his  back  yard 

BRISTLE  WITH  LIGHTNING-RODS. 

Clap  !  comes  the  bolt;  the  man  of  success  is  the  one 
who  has  been  hit,  and  those  persons  who  do  not  un- 
derstand it  are  astonished  at  his  luck  !  The  man  of 
success  is  a  stone ;  there  are  a  number  of  .eggs  who 
are  bent  on  dancing  in  the  same  cotillon  with  him ; 
they  think  he  has  great  luck  to  last  through  to  such 
music  !  The  man  of  success  is  a  thoroughbred;  his 


328  GAINS  AND  BRAINS. 

sire  won  a  Derby;  all  the  drayhorses  believe  that, 
when  this  lucky  thoroughbred  runs, 

THE  EARTH  MOVES  BACKWARD 

beneath  his  feet,  to  help  him  in  overcoming  distance  ! 
The  man  of  success  is  a  lightning  calculator;  the 
spectators  all  think  he  is  a  lucky  fellow  to  guess  at 
the  sum  of  a  great  block  of  figures  so  quickly  and 
always  guess  right ;  they  never  could  do  it  ! 

"  LUCK  "  SAYS  RICHARD  COBDEN, 

"  is  ever  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up.  Labor, 
with  keen  eyes  and  strong  will,  will  turn  up  some- 
thing. Luck  lies  in  bed,  and  wishes  the  postman 
would  bring  him  the  news  of  a  legacy.  Labor  turns 
out  at  six  o'clock,  and  with  busy  pen  or  ringing  ham- 
mer lays  the  foundation  of  a  competence.  Luck 
whines.  Laboi  whistles.  Luck  relies  on  chance. 
Labor  on  character."  The  man  of  success  who  owns 
a  mill  is  seen  in  the  water  up  to  his  waist,  dragging  a 
log  behind  him.  "  Is  he  not  lucky  to  get  his  dam 
fixed  so  soon  after  the  flood  !"  say  the  neighbors. 
The  man  of  success  who  owns  a  grocery  has  got  ten 
barrels  of  flour  on  the  sidewalk,  two  casks  of  petro- 


GAINS  AND  BRAINS.  329 

leum  in  the  alley,  and  twelve  barrels  of  sugar  on  his 
trucks.  At  night  the  barrels  are  all  in  their  places, 
and,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  seen, — in  the  retail  business, 
at  least, — it  was  not  the  clerks  of  the  man  of  success 
who  did 

THE  HEAVY  END  OF  THE  LIFTING. 

"  I  never  "  says  Addison,  "  knew  an  early-rising,  hard- 
working, prudent  man,  careful  of  his  earnings,  and 
strictly  honest,  who  complained  of  bad  luck.  A 
good  character,  good  habits,  and  iron  industry  are 
impregnable  to  the  assaults  of  all  the  ill-luck  that 
fools  ever  dreamed  of."  "  Strong  men  believe  in 
cause  and  effect,"  says  Emerson.  "  There  are  no 
chances  so  unlucky,"  says  Rochefoucauld,  "  that  peo- 
ple are  not  able  to  reap  some  advantage  from  them, 
and  none  so  lucky  that  the  foolish  are  not  able  to  turn 
them  to  their  own  disadvantage." 

WHEN  WE  TALK  ABOUT  LUCK, 

we  never  mean  that  a  man  is  lucky  to  be  endowed 
with  successful  qualities.  So  long  as  we  do  not  go 
back  to  the  real  matter  of  fortune,  which  lies  in  the 
character,  let  us,  at  least,  be  intelligent,  and  stop  talk- 


33°  GAINS  AND  BRAINS. 

ing  about  one  man  having  any  more  good  things 
happen  to  him  than  another.  There  is  only  one 
sure  thing  about  events,  and  that  is  the  law  of  chance. 
If  men  take  to  chance,  they  will  come  out  even,  if  it 
be  a  fair  chance. 

THIS  IS  CERTAIN. 

If  you  try  to  match  the  penny  some  one  has  covered, 
and  fail  ten  times  in  succession,  it  is  a  certainty  that 
you  will  succeed  often  enough,  ere  long,  to  make 
your  failures  and  your  successes  balance.  Everything 
which  depends  entirely  on  chance  is  exactly  even. 
If  the  man  you  envy  to-day  on  account  of  some  piece 
of  unquestionably  good  luck,  were  to  be  as  closely 
watched  to-morrow,  he  would  be  seen  to  suffer  some 
piece  of  as  unquestionably  bad  luck.  You  cannot 
help  noticing  his  good  fortune,  and  he  never  howls 
about  his  disasters. 

FORTUNE  TELLERS 

thrive  on  this  principle — taking  even  guesses,  and 
trusting  to  the  victim's  remembrance  of  all  that 

o 

comes  true  and  his  forgetfulness  of  all  that  does  not. 
Put  up  your  lightning-rods,  get  between  the  cars, 


GAINS  AND  BRAINS.  33! 

begin  making  powder — increase  your  probabilities  of 
getting  blown  up,  of  having  something  out  of  the  or. 
dinary  run  happen  to  you.  If  you  are  food  for  big 
fish,  go  where  the  big  fish  are,  and  you  will  not'  be 
left  over  for  lunch.  If  you  can  be  useful  to  a  great 
railroad  man,  a  great  statesman,  or,  even,  a  great  na- 
tion, they  are  going  to  thrive  on  you.  They  will  take 
a  taste  of  you  almost  before  you  know  it.  If  you  are 
smart,  sober,  and  were  not  born  tired,  there  is  no  bad 
luck  that  can  get  even  a  shade  the  best  of  you. 


"Tarry  a  while,"  says  Slow. — MOTHER  Gooste. 


UR  generation  is  formed  largely 
of  men  who  went  to  war  and 
experienced  the  trials  and  the 
combats  of  one  of  the  greatest 
commotions  of  all  history.  Upon 
those  men  was  imposed  the  glorious  rod  of 
discipline.  "Thus  far  and  no  farther !"  is 
written  upon  their  broad  foreheads  as  plain- 
ly  as  the  God  of  the  great  sea  marks  it  on 
I  \  \2)  the  rocks  with  which  he  has  hemmed  the 
\|  shores,  and  I  would  not  wonder  if  the  vast 
prosperity  of  the  present  day  were  largely  attributa- 
ble to  that  stern  fondness  with  which  the  true  man 
passes  into  the  action  of  daily  life,  and  obeys  orders 

under  fire.     Young  man,  carve  yourself  down  to  that 
333 


DISCIPLINE.  333 

rugged  line  that  will  make  you  a  fitting  part  of  the 
structure  in  which  you  are  an  element. 

BE  RATHER  THE   GIRDER 

holding  the  building  than  the  creaking  clapboard 
flapping  in  the  wind.  When  you  get  an  order  from 
your  employer,  school  yourself  to  move  mechanically 
to  the  action  implied.  Glory  in  it.  Be  sure,  only, 
that  you  are  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  your  superior. 
Make  it  your  pleasure.  It  will  become  an  intense 
delight.  Suppose  that  you  are  allowed  a  holiday. 
You  return  to  your  home  and  find  a  command  to 
appear  at  your  place  of  business.  A  delay  in  finding 
you  has  happened.  You  can  reach  your  employer 
just  at  the  end  of  business  hours.  You  say  "  I  will 
not  mind  this  ;  there  is  not  time  enough.1'  Alas  ! 
You  have  done  yourself 

A  CRUEL  WRONG. 

You  have  given  an  entrance  to  a  wedge  that  will 
rend  you  in  pieces.  On  the  other  hand,  you  do  not 
stop  to  look  twice  at  the  dial.  You  go.  Good  ! 
You  have  strengthened  your  character.  You  can 
depend  on  yourself.  You  admire  yourself.  "  I  re- 
ceived your  directions  at  5.30.  I  have  obeyed  orders." 


334  DISCIPLINE. 

Drill  of  this  sort  will  soon  hew  your  mind  down  to 
the  solid  heart  of  oak.  You  will  know  what  you 
mean  when  you  say  a  thing.  "  I  will  get  up  at  6 
o'clock."  When  6  o'clock  arrives,  and  you  are 
aroused,  your  mind  is  not 

A  MESS  OF   PULP, 

ready  to  take  the  impression  of  the  first  lazy  wish 
that  comes  over  you.  No,  your  brain  says  resolute- 
ly, "  I  will  arise,1'  and  lo  !  a  victory  ! — and  no 
small  one  either.  In  this  way,  true  firmness  is  made. 
It  is  a  growth.  Beware  of  the  insects  which  beset 
the  lordly  tree,  v.  ithering  its  leaves  and  driving  its 
sap  into  the  earth. 

"Let  us  put  a  cable  under  the  ocean,"  says  Cyrus 
Field.  "  Tarry  a  while,"  says  Slow.  "  Let  us  put 
the  cities  within  actual  speaking  distance  ! "  say 
Bell,  and  Gray  and  Edison.  "  Tarry  a  while,"  says 
Slow.  "  Let  us  print  thirty  thousand  newspapers  in 
an  hour,  and  give  them  out  of  the  press  folded, 
and  pasted,  and  cut  ! "  say  Potter,  and  Hoe,  and 
Kahler.  u  Tarry  a  while  "  says  Slow.  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  Slow  and  Sleepyhead,  wonders  have  accumu- 
lated upon  wonders,  until  the  Arabian  Nights  and 


DISCIPLINE.  335 

Gulliver's  Travels  are  only  the  creations  of  a  poor 
fancy,  while  the  intimations  which  the  future  affords 
us  stagger  the  understanding  and  make  us  almost 
idolatrous  in  our  admiration  of  the  quiet,  keen-acting 
men  who  have  dared  out  into  fairy-land  and  returned 
laden  like  the  spies  coming  from  Canaan. 

Our  whole  history  is  one  of  discipline.  And  what 
has  it  made  of  us?  A  nation  that  has  sung 

THE  DEATH-KNELL  OF  THE  KINGS  OF  THE  EARTH. 

I  think  a  good  deal  of  these  lines  of  James  Russell 
Lowell : 

This  land  o*  ourn,  I  tell  ye  's  gut  to  be 

A  better  country  than  man  ever  see  ; 

I  feel  my  sperit  swellin  with  a  cry 

That  seems  to  say  :     "Break  forth  and  prophesy." 

O  strange  New  World,  that  yet  wast  never  young, 

Whose  youth  from  thee  by  gripin'  want  was  wrung, 

Brown  foundlin"  o'  the  woods,  whose  baby  bed 

Was  prowled  round  by  the  Injun's  cracklin'  tread, 

An'  who  grewst  strong  thru'  shifts,  and  wants,  an'  pains, 

Nursed  by  stern  men,  with  empires  in  their  brains  ! 

Another  sweet  poet  has  sung  : 

111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  wealth  is  fast  accu- 
mulating. Let  fathers,  and  mothers,  and  preceptors 
spur  the  rising  generation  to  that  love  of  accuracy, 
of  "  right  dress,"  as  the  soldiers  say,  which  puts  each 


DISCIPLINE. 

man  in  his  place,  certain  to  stay  there  as  long  as  he 
has  agreed  to,  and  certain  to  act  when  the  fitting 
time  arrives. 

THE  ORGAN  AND   ITS  PIPES  AND  REEDS. 

Perhaps  I  can  impress  the  true  necessity  of  disci- 
pline no  more  forcibly  than  by  comparing  society  to 
a  grand  organ  upon  which  the  Creator  sounds  his 
mighty  fugue  of  years.  We  are  the  pipes — some  « 
the  colossal  columns  which  shake  the  world,  and 
others  the  tiny  tubes  which  make  a  feeble  cry,  almost 
unheard.  No  one  of  us  must  sound  his  note  save  in 
that  proper  place  and  at  that  proper  time  which  Duty 
indicates.  We  mar  a  perfect  harmony  by 
ill-tempered  silence,  and  perhaps  ruin  the  labors  of 
our  associates  by  a  continuous  sounding  of  our  own 
ridiculous  reed. 

WHEREVER  WE  ARE 

In  the  factory,  the  counting  house,  the  workshops  of 
the  grand  industries, — or  on  the  broad  acres  which 
watch  so  fondly  for  the  sun,  let  us  be  careful,  when 
there  is  a  troubling  jar,  a  fatal  discord,  that  our 
key  is  not  the  guilty  one. 


Books,  we  know, 

Are  a  substantial  world,  both  pure  and  good; 

Round  these,  with  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and  blood, 

Our  pastime  and  our  happiness  will  grow. — WORDSWORTH. 


Y  the  aid  of  books  we  multiply  our 
sensations  a  million-fold.  Often  the 
reader  actually  feels  what  he  reads. 
Such  impressions  would  perhaps 
never  have  fallen  to  his  lot  in  the 
ordinary  way  of  getting  experience. 
Our  indebtedness,  then,  to  the  art  of  print- 
ing, is  perhaps  greater  than  to  any  other  of 
the  remarkable  discoveries  which  have  lent 
enduring  charms  to  human  life.  And  yet, 
with  all  its  progress,  the  book-reading  world 
is  still  in  its  infancy.  The  people  do  not 
read  half  enough,  they  do  not  discriminate 
wisely  between  good  reading  and  indifferent  reading, 
and  they  read  too  much  matter  of  an  ephemeral  na- 
ture, little  calculated  to  be  of  the  slightest  benefit  to 
them  a  week  after  its  perusal.  If  a  man  lived  on  the 
banks  of  a  beautiful  lake,  and  went  down  to  its  shore 

1337] 
22 


BOOKS. 

each  pleasant  day  to  take  a  ride,  and,  after  an  excur- 
sion upon  the  peaceful  waters,  stove  his  boat  in,  or 
cast  it  adrift,  he  would  be  actually  following  the 
practice  of  our  people  of  the  present  day.  The  man 
who  owns  a  library  in  these  times,  is  considered  either 
a  book-worm  or  an  opulent  citizen.  And  yet  what 
treasures  are  within  everyone's  reach  !  Suppose  you 
buy  and  read  a  volume.  You  are 

FILLED  WITH  IDEAS  NEW  TO  YOU, 

and  you  derive  great  pleasure.  Keep  that  book  a 
year  and  read  it  over.  It  is  safe  to  say  you  will  gain 
more  benefit  and  reap  greater  enjoyment  from  the 
second  perusal  than  from  the  first.  A  library  of  books, 
every  one  of  which  you  have  read,  is  a  mine  without 
"walls."  It  is  a  merry  assembly  of  old  friends  ever 
faithful.  Grief  cannot  drive  them  away.  Slander 
cannot  alienate  them.  They  cannot  have  rival  inter- 
ests. They  cannot  want  anything  you  Jjave  got,  and 
you  can  take  all  they  have  got, 

AND  NOT  ROB  THEM  AT  ALL. 

You  have  a  memory  which  is  as  treacherous  as  the 
most  of  the  other  attributes  of  human  nature.  You 


BOOKS.  339 

sit  down  and  read  two  hours  on  an  interesting  topic. 
A  friend  opens  the  same  subject  to  you,  a  day  after- 
ward, in  conversation,  and  you  fairly  carry  him  by 
storm.  That  is  unfair,  for  you  should  say  you  have 
been  "  posting  up  " —  but  it  shows  the  value  of  a  li- 
brary. By  frequent  "  posting "  on  whatever  you 
have  read,  you  become  a  learned  man,  which  is 

A  TITLE  OF  GREAT  CREDIT  AND  DIGNITY 

in  most  men's  eyes.  The  men  who  read  once  and 
"read  everything"  are  never  called  "learned." 
They  are  called  "  superficial."  It  is  a  little  unjust, 
for  they  have  been  just  as  studious  as  the  "learned 
men,"  but  they  have  spread  themselves  out  too  thin. 
They  have  not  bought  and  kept  the  books  they  have 
read,  and  they  cannot  remember  the  vital  points. 
Suppose  you  recollect  that  Lord  Bacon  has  said  some- 
thing very  wise  about  riches.  That  is  all  you  can 
call  to  mind.  That  carries  no  impression  to  anybody. 
If  you  had  the  book  in  which  you  saw  the  speech, 
you  could  repeat  it  accurately,  and  the  probability  is 
that  the  next  time  you  referred  to  it  you  could  give 

THE  GIST  OF  THE  WHOLE  THOUGHT, 

and,  by  the  next  attempt,  the  language  itself.     You 


34°  BOOKS. 

could  say  to  your  friend  when  you  were  talking  about 
wealth,  that  you  have  admired  that  speech  of  Bacon 
where  he  says  that  he  cannot  call  riches  better  than 
the  "baggage"  of  virtue;  that  he  thinks  the  Roman 
word  "  impedimenta  "  still  better;  that,  as  baggage  is 
to  an  army,  so  is  riches  to  virtue;  it  cannot  be  spared 
or  left  behind,  but,  in  his  quaint  expression,  "  it  hin- 
dereth  the  march ;  yea,  and  the  care  of  it  sometimes 
loseth  or  disturbeth  the  victory."  Your  friend  would 
be  gratified  with  so  perfect  a  figure  of  speech,  and  he 
would  never  call  you  "  superficial."  That  is  real 
experience.  It  is  not  theory.  A  book  has  little  val- 
ue to  a  man  until  he  has  read  it  at  least  twice.  He 
has  then  labeled  and  pigeon-holed  it,  and  really  needs 
to  possess  it. 

A  MAN  OUGHT  TO  READ 

his  favorite  portions  of  Shakspeare  a  thousand  times — 
of  the  Bible  a  million  times.  Reading  is  much  more 
like  painting  than  we  think.  Go  into  a  palace  car. 
Do  you  think  this  polish  was  put  on  the  wood  with 
one  application  of  the  brush — with  two,  three, 
four  ?  No;  it  would  possibly  be  cheaper  to  cover  it 
with  silk  plush  than  to  go  over  it  as  the  skilled  work- 


BOOKS.  341 

men  have  done.  Let  us  buy  less  ephemeral  stuff, 
to  be  set  adrift  and  stove  m  when  we  have  skimmed 
over  it.  Let  us  season  our  reading,  polish  it,  grain 
it,  varnish  it,  repolish  it  and  revarnish'  it,  until  we  are 
just  like  it  ourselves — clear,  concise,  intelligent. 
How  enjoyable  it  is  to  meet  an  intelligent  person  ! 

WHAT  A  CHARM 

there  is  about  a  comrade  who  can  understand  what 
you  say,  and  who  can  swap  ideas  with  you  "  even 
Steven  !"  It  cannot  be  done  without  books. 

Considering  the  vast  importance  of  learning  in 
saving  labor  and  reducing  the  actual  cost  of  existence, 
there  has  been  little  growth  in  the  business  of  book- 
making  compared  with  what  there  should  have  been. 
The  trade  in  books  in  America  is  large,  because  the 
country  is  large.  Everything  is-  large  here.  Com- 
paratively, however,  it  probably  sinks  below  fishing 
for  mackerel  as  an  industry.  As  it  is  now,  a  shock- 
ingly large  portion  of  the  industry  such  as  it  is  is  given 
over  to  costly  bindings.  It  does  not  seem  that  the 
people,  even  when  they  first  had  books,  cared  so 
much  for  the  privilege  of  reading  as  they  did  for  a 
gaudy  covering  to  the  volume,  on  which  they 


342  BOOKS. 

^* 
could     expend     a     barbaric    love     for     ornament. 

The  wise  men  of  those  times  marveled,  just 
as  the  wise  men  marvel  nowadays.  "  Learning 
hath  gained  most  by  those  books,"  says  Old  Fuller, 
"  by  which  the  printers  have  lost."  Our  follies  in 
the  way  of  "books  that  are  all  binding"  are  almost 
microscopically  small  when  put  beside  those  of  the 
olden  times,  when,  one  would  think  the  art  of  print- 
ing, being  new,  would  have  been  best  appreciated,  for 
surely  the  grass  looks  the  greenest  to  us  in  the  spring ! 
Let  us  do  something  more  than 

MAKE  JEWELRY  OUT  OF  THE  ART  OF  GUTTENBERG. 

"  A  book  may  be  as  great  a  thing  as  a  battle," 
said  Disraeli,  and  he  meant  by  that  a  decisive  battle- 
Now  there  are  sometimes  very  decisive  battles.  A 
Turk  once  came  up  against  the  walls  of  Vienna  and 
the  walls  of  Tour's,  in  France,  and,  if  he  had  got 
through,  you  and  I  would  to-day,  so  the  scholars  say, 
be  "good  Mussulmans,"  instead  of  Christians,  living 
in  freedom  and  decency.  "When  a  book,"  says 
Bruyere,  "  raises  your  spirits,  and  inspires  you  with 
noble  and  courageous  feelings,  seek  for  no  other  rule 
to  judge  the  work  by;  it  is  good,  and  made  by  a 


BOOKS.  343 

good  workman."     The  books  you  buy  should  have 
large  clear  type.     They  are  to  be 

YOUR  COMPANIONS  THROUGH  LIFE. 

Your  eyes  will  not  be  so  bright  in  their  old  age.  The 
volumes  should  not  be  bulky — that  is,  for  true, 
practical  use.  "Great  books,"  says  Clulow,  "like 
large  skulls,  have  often  the  least  brains."  "  Books,' 
says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  that  you  may  carry  to  the  fire? 
and  hold  readily  in  your  hand,  are  the  most  useful, 
after  all."  There  is  no  objection  to  a  costly  and 
beautifully-bound  Bible,  out  of  which  you  may  read 
each  day  with  added  veneration,  but  your  sons  and 
daughters  should  have  pocket  copies.  From  these 
modest  little  volumes,  the  marvels  of  language 
and  thought  may  be  gathered  without  seeming  effort. 
Do  not  be  afraid  you  are  spending  too  much  money 
on  reading.  If  yoa  read  each  book  as  you  buy  it, 
you  cannot  buy  too  many — that  is,  if  you  are  an  hon- 
orable man,  earning  your  living  in  the  world,  and 
not  sponging  it  off  some  one  else.  Read  your  book 
slowly,  above  all  things.  Read  it  as  you  would  ride 
in  your  boat  on  the  waters,  looking  down  at  the  peb- 
bles, the  fishes,  the  grasses,  and  the  roots  of  the  pond- 


344  BOOKS. 

lilies  which,  being  of  God's  creation  like  yourself, 
send  a  responsive  thrill  of  acquaintance  through  your 
heart  as  you  float  above  them.  You  can,  at  best, 
but  glide  over  a  book.  Even  the  writer  has  been 
but  a  passing  observer  of  a  few  of  its  truths.  It  is 

THE  RECORD  OF  THE  CENTURIES. 

Respect  it.  "  My  latest  passion  will  be  for  books," 
said  Frederick  the  Great,  in  his  old  age.  He  had 
hardly  looked  down  into  the  waters  until  he  got  near- 
ly to  the  other  shore.  Gibbon  declared  that  a  taste 
for  books  was  the  pleasure  and  glory  of  his  life ;  and 
Carlyle,  who,  it  is  supposed,  was  better  acquainted 
with  books  than  any  man  who  has  yet  lived,  declared 
that  of  all  man  could  do  or  make  here  below,  by  far 
the  most  momentous,  wonderful,  and  worthy  were 
the  things  we  call  books. 

HELP  OTHERS. 

If  any  memDers  of  your  family  have  the  love  of 
books,  aid  them  in  satisfying  it.  Sucli  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth.  They  are  the  blazed  trees  in  the  dark 
forests  of  the  present  generations,  to  mark  out  that 
course  which  shall,  in  future  ages,  be  the  highway  of 
the  whole  world. 


The  friend  thou  hast,  and  his  adoption  tried, 

Grapple  him  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel. — SHAKSPEARE. 

I  praise  the  Frenchman,  his  remark  was  shrewd, 
"How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet  is  solitude !  " 
But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat, 
Whom  I  may  whisper  "Solitude  is  sweet !  " — COWPER. 


HATEVER  the  number  of  a 
man's  friends  "  says  Lord  Lytton, 
u  there  are  times  in  his  life  when 
he  has  one  too  few."  "  Life," 
says  Sydney  Smith,  "is  to  be 
fortified  by  many  friendships.'' 
Says  Bishop  Hare  :  "  Friendship  is  love  with- 
out its  flowers  or  veil."  "A  faithful  friend  is 
the  true  image  of  the  Deity,"  said  Napoleon, 
who  never  believed  he  had  a  true  friend  not  a 
born  fool.  "A  friend  loveth  at  all  times,"  says 
the  Bible.  Says  Herr  Gotthold  :  "with  a 
clear  sky,  a  bright  sun,  and  a  gentle  breeze,  you  will 
have  friends  in  plenty,  but  let  fortune  frown  and  the 

345 


346  FRIENDSHIP. 

firmament  be  overcast,  and  then  your  friends  will  prove 

LIKE  THE  STRINGS  OF  THE  LUTE, 

of  which  you  will  tighten  ten  before  you  find  one 
that  will  bear  the  stretch  and  keep  the  pitch." 
"What  an  argument  in  favor  of  social  connections," 
says  Lord  Greville,  "  is  the  observation  that  by  com- 
municating our  grief  we  have  less,  and  by  communi- 
cating our  pleasures  we  have  more."  Horace 
Walpole  has  given  clear  expression  to  one  of  the 
chief  pleasures  of  friendship  : 

"OLD  FRIENDS 

are  the  great  blessings  of  one's  latter  years.  Half  a 
word  conveys  one's  meaning.  They  have  memory 
of  the  same  events,  and  have  the  same  mode  of 
thinking.  I  have  young  relations  that  may  grow 
upon  me,  for  my  nature  is  affectionate,  but  can  they 
grow  old  friends  ?  My  age  forbids  that.  Still  less 
can  they  grow  companions.  Is  it  friendship  to  ex- 
plain half  one  says  ?  One  must  relate  the  history 
of  one's  memory  and  ideas;  and  what  is  that  to  the 
young  but  old  stories  ?  "  "  Fast-won,  fast  lost,"  says 
Shakspeare.  Says  Dr.  Johnson  :  "  If  a  man  does  not 


FRIENDSHIP.  347 

make  new  acquaintances  as  he  advances  through  life, 
he  will  soon  find  himself  left  alone.  A  man  should 
keep  his  friendships  in  constant  repair  !  " 

ALL  THROUGH  THE  WRITINGS  OF  THE  SAGES 

on  this  subject  there  is  a  tinge  of  melancholy.  "There 
are  no  friends  !  "  says  Aristotle.  "  There  have  been 
fewer  friends  on  earth  than  Kings,  says  the  poet 
Cowley.  Why  is  this  ?  Let  us  peer  into  the  sol- 
emn question.  The  ideal  of  true  manhood  is  easily 
• 

formulated.  Alas  !  what  an  abyss  separates  a  man's 
daily  life,  as  it  is,  from  that  high  quality  he  has  pic- 
tured in  his  imagination.  We  are  all  the  time  reach- 
ing for 

THINGS  WE  DO  NOT  UNDERSTAND, 

and  could  not  assimilate  with  if  they  were  placed-at 
our  disposal.  In  this  way  a  weary,  well-read  novel- 
reader,  worn  out  in  all  lines  of  light  letters,  enters  a 
circulating  library,  and  queruously  asks  :  "  Have 
you  any  new  books  ? "  She  expects  a  negative 
answer,  and  in  that  case  would  suffer  a  -keen  disap- 
pointment. The  man  says  "  Yes,"  and  brings  out 
several  new  books.  Every  one  of  these  is  new  in 
every  sense.  It  may  be  the  most  trivial  set  of  pages 


348  FRIENDSHIP. 

yet  printed  in  this  era  of  scribblers,  or,  yet,  it  may  be 
a  great  work,  worthy  of  the  attention  of  the  thought- 
ful, and  the  commendation  of  the  pure  in  heart. 
Nobody  can  tell.  Then,  illogically,  she  asks  :  "  Is 
this  good  ?  "  or  "  Is  that  good  ?  "  and  upon  being 
reminded  that  she  wanted  something  new  or  nothing, 
she  asks  for  something  by  May  Agnes  Fleming,  or 
Mary  Jane  Holmes,  and  goes  off  happy,  to  re-read 
those  expressions  which  have  so  well  pleased  her  in 
the  past. 

I  think  I  espy  in  this  exhibition  of   the  working   of 
the  mind  in  a  rude  and  unsatisfactory  state 

A   GENERAL    PRINCIPLE, 

just  as  potent  in  the  mighty  brain  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
or  of  Louis  Agassiz.  Man  idealizes  the  affair  of 
friendship.  He  forgets  whether  he  really  wants  it  or 
not,  and  then  persistently  inquires  for  it.  It  is  not  in 
the  library  of  possibilities.  He  therefore  goes  off 
angry  and  disappointed.  Could  he  get  a  glimpse  at 
it,  I  am  afraid  he  would  walk  away  satisfied  with 
something  more  nearly  en  rapport  with  his  nature 
and  and  his  habits.  Let  us  view  this  golden  word 
friendship  as  man  idealizes  it  :  Being  a  changeable 


FRIENDSHIP.  349 

thing,  he  views  friendship  (of  which  he  knows  nothing), 
entirely  by  comparison  with  something  of  which  in 
its  turn  he  knows  but  little.  This  something  is  al- 
ways a  mother's  love  for  her  son,  notorious  as  the 
strongest  affection  shown  by  our  species.  He  there- 
fore doubles  up  this  marvelous  fact  of  a  mother's  love, 
and  creates  in  his  imagination  a  reciprocatory  agency 
co-respondent  to  this  mother's  love.  Now,  with  this 
magnificent  product  of  invention,  he  goes  forth  into 
the  world,  seeking  for  some  man  upon  whom  he  may 
bestow  a  mother's  love  (of  which  the  "bestower"  is 
entirely  incapable),  and  who  will,  in  payment,  respond 
with  a  mother's  love  (of  which  that  man  would,  of 
course,  be  also  incapable).  In  the  jargon  of  electricity  a 
positive  and  a  negative  are  absolutely  necessary  to 
electric  energy. 

A  MOTHER'S  LOVE 

is  a  deplorably  one-sided  action,  but  it  is  the  highest 
and  noblest  of  the  faculties  of  affection.  Anything 
beyond  it  is  ideal,  made  up  of  two  positives,  and  a 
thousand  years  ahead  of  us.  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
when  man  makes  his  experiments  with  the  mother's 
love  which  he  supposes  himself  capable  of  bestowing 


350  FRIENDSHIP. 

that  a  universal  wail  arises,  or  that  Shakspeare,  the 
greatest  of  mortal  minds,  brought  in  those  awful  verdicts 
against  mankind — "  Lear  "  and  "  Timon  of  Athens"? 

I  THINK  THAT  IS  WHY 

the  very  deepest  philosophers  grow  sad  when  they 
touch  the  question  of  friendship.  The  problem  is 
itself  the  saddest  of  commentaries  upon  the  weakness 
of  our  higher  faculties.  Separate  man  from  his  wife 
and  family  and  view  him  in  his  relations  to  other 
persons  similarly  placed,  and  the  result  is  not  only 
unsatisfactory,  but  distressing  to  a  mind  anxious  to 
hold  to  a  good  opinion  of  humanity.  Put  to  the  right 
test  the  quality  of  human  friendship  is  found  to  be 
highly  strained — to  be  liable  to  curdle  in  the  first 
thundershower — to  sour  upon  the  sensitive  stomach. 
We  at  once  behold  mankind  forced  to  flee  to  God's 
kind  institution  of  the  family  and  the  home  to  escape 
a  desolation  of  the  heart  which  follows  fruitless  efforts 
to  kindle  a  blaze  out  of  the  damp  driftwood  of  life's 
general  associations. 

Now,  what  is  possible  ?  Spot  friendship  is  possible, 
and  delightful.  "To-morrow  do  thy  worst,  for  I 
have  lived  to-day."  Man  is  a  social  animal. 


FRIENDSHIP.  351 

He  u  gregates,"  he  flocks.  Of  nothing  am  I  fonder 
than  the  sparkle  of  a  friend's  eye,  and  the  gabble  of 
half  an  hour,  or  three  hours.  But  I  ought  not  to 
build  on  any  future  gabbles,  for,  to-morrow,  lo  !  my 
friend  may  have  discovered  my  ignoble  reality, 
whereas  he  has  heretofore  been  shaking  hands  with 
my  noble  ideality. 

ANOTHER  THING 

should  always  be  considered  :  "  Kindred  weaknesses" 
says  Bovee,  "induce  friendships  as  often  as  kindred 
virtues."  Here  is  Herder's  beautiful  view  :  "As 
the  shadow  in  early  morning,  is  friendship  with  the 
wicked  ;  it  dwindles  hour  by  hour.  But  friendship 
with  the  good  increases,  like  the  evening  shadows, 
till  the  sun  of  life  sets."  "People  young,  and  raw, 
and  soft-natured,"  says  South,  "  think  it  an  easy 
thing  to  gain  love,  and  reckon  their  own  friendships 
a  sure  price  of  any  man's  :  but  when  experience  shall 
have  shown  them  the  hardness  of  most  hearts,  the 
hollowness  of  others,  and  the  baseness  and  ingratitude 
of  almost  all,  they  will  then  find  that 

A  TRUE  FRIEND  IS  THE  GIFT  OF  GOD, 

and  that  He  only  who  made  hearts  can  unite  them." 


352.  FRIENDSHIP. 

Says  the  wise  Lord  Bacon  :  "  It  is  a  good  discretion 
not  to  make  too  much  of  any  man  at  the  first  ;  be. 
cause  one  cannot  hold  out  that  proportion,"  and  that 
is  so,  for  some  of  the  strongest  bonds  of  friendship 
ever  felt  have  been  woven  without  thought  of  pleasure 
on  either  side  at  the  commencement. 

"  Saul  and  Jonathan  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in 
their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided." 
"  1  am  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother,  Jonathan  : 
very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me  :  thy  love  to 
me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  woman." 

"  Very  few  friends,"  says  Sydney  Smith,  "  will 
bear  to  be  told  of  their  faults  ;  and,  if  done  at  all,  it 
must  be  done  with  infinite  management  and  delicacy ; 
for  if  you  indulge  often  in  this  practice,  men  think 
you  hate,  and  avoid  you.  If  the  evil  is  not  very 
alarming,  it  is  better,  indeed,  to  let  it  alone,  and  not 
to  turn  friendship  into  a  system  of  lawful  and  unpun- 
ishable impertinence.  I  am  for  frank  explanations 
with  friends  in  cases  of  affront.  They  sometimes 

SAVE  A  PERISHING  FRIENDSHIP, 

and  even  place  it  on  a  firmer  basis  than  at  first  ;  but 
secret  discontent  must  always  end  badly." 


FRIENDSHIP.  353 

v 

Let  us  love  our  friends  for  what  they  are  to-day — 
not  for  what  they  will  be  when  we  come  to  make 
unreasonable  demands  on  them.  The  sun  is  beautiful 
and  delightful.  It  will  not  shine  for  us  in  the  night 
nor,  in  the  daytime  shine  for  us  alone.  We  were 
bereft  of  our  minds  did  we,  therefore,  enter  a  cave 
and  forswear  all  further  pleasure  in  its  genial  rays. 

IT  IS  EASIER  TO   RAIL 

against  friendship  than  to  enact  our  parts  in  that 
drama  ot  life  which  is  to  elevate  the  term.  Thus  we 
hear  Goldsmith  cry — 

What  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 

And  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep. 

Yet  this  same  Goldsmith  was  a  burden  on  his 
friends.  He  did  his  duty  to  posterity,  in  leaving 
them  beautiful  literature  and  song,  but  to  his  own 
associates  he  was  unsparing  in  his  good-natured  de- 
mands. It  is  safe  to  say  that  he  who  tries  to  ennoble 
friendship  is  best  worthy  of  the  name  of  friend,  and  he 
who  belittles  it,  has  fewer  claims  to  man's  humanity. 
Everytime  we  deny  the  existence  of  a  satisfying, 
friendship,  we  proclaim  aloud  our  own  baseness. 

Let  us  avoid  it. 

23 


Envy  will  merit  as  its  shade  pursue. 
But,  like  a  shadow,  proves  the  substance  true. 
POPE. — ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 


O  passion  has  been  more  univer- 
sally recognized  than  envy  as  the 
basest  of  all  the  traits  that  under 
mine  the  nobility  of  man ;  and  yet 
there  is  no  obnoxious  quality  so 
universal  in  men's  characters.  In  the 


life  of  the  good  man  it  reminds  one  *  of 
the  mice,  in  our  houses,  which  eat  their 
way  to  our  attention  and  their  own  de- 
struction; for  there  are  few  men  who 
have  looked  into  their  own  hearts  who 
have  not  seen  the  small  but  odious  traces 
of  this  gnawing  evil.  Again,  the  mind 
of  the  bad  man,  who  has  given  himself  entirely  up  to 

envy,  is 

A  WOLF'S  DEN — 

a  howling  pandemonium,  where  no  quarter  is  given, 
and  where  the  merits  of  the  deserving  rather  than  the 

[354] 


ENVY.  355 

lapses  of  the  blameworthy  are  torn  as  the  most  tooth- 
some morsel  in  a  furious  feast.  The  Bible  says  that 
envy  is  the  rottenness  of  the  bones,  meaning  that  utter 
corruption  which  has  finally  reached  the  framework 
of  the  structure.  Society  as  now  organized  is  really 
making  progress  toward  the  extinction  of  this  hideous 
blemish.  When,  as  in  ^Esop's  fables, 

A  TAILLESS  FOX 

is  found  advocating  the  disuse  of  tails,  he  is  at  once 
suspected,  and  his  influence  greatly  limited.  For  the 
world  is  waking  up  to  the  meanness  of  envy.  The 
world,  in  its  better  moments,  is  rising  above  it.  It  is 
one  of  our  principal  duties,  on  entering  the  Temple  of 
Life,  to  search  our  hearts  for  the  little  fox  with  the 
sharp  tooth.  When  we  find  ourselves  about  to  enter 
upon  a  course  of  action,  either  momentary  or  long 
continuous,  which  will  be  adverse  to  another  of  our 
fellow-creatures,  let  us  ask:  uls  there  anything  of 
envy  in  this  act?"  If  there  be,  let  us  refrain  from 
acting — the  soul  is  not  yet  pure,  the  body  fragrant. 

Let  us  see  how  ignorant  this  contemptible  quality 
of  envy  becomes  under  the  lenses  of  practcial  life. 
"Base  envy  withers  at  another's  joy."  What  has 


356  ENVY. 

caused  it?  In  nine  cases  out  of  ever)7  ten,  it  is  simply 
the  one-sided  view  of  an  ignorant  mind,  which  sees 
only  the  bare  result  of  unceasing  efforts.  Envy  sees 
Fame  on  the  peak.  Envy  therefore  hates  Fame,  and 
declares  that  there  are  no  crags,  or  rifts,  or  snows, 
or  storms  on  the  way  up — that,  the  path  is  an  easy 
one,  over  which  all  who  ever  went  that  way  traveled 
in  preference  to  all  other  routes  ! 

I  lay  upon  a  boarding-house  bed  day  after  day,  one 
summer,  sick  of  a  fever.  On  the  one  side,  a  building 
was  going  up,  and  workmen  filled  the  air  with  mighty 
din.  On  the  other  side,  a  young  man  sang 

"  DO,     HOORAY,     ME,     FAH,     SOLE,     LAH,     SE,     DO  !" 

I  thought:  "The  one  will  be  a  grand  house,  and  the 
other  will  be  a  great  tenor,  but  oh  the  way  is  long. 
The  feet  grow  weary  !" 

It  has  often  seemed  to  me  that  this  was  my  first 
true  view  of  life,  and  nowadays,  when — I  am  tired, 
especially, — I  do  not  envy  the  truly  great  in  any 
avenue  of  distinction.  The  walker  has  walked,  the 
builder  has  groaned,  the  fighter  has  fought,  the  scribe 
has  scribbled,  the  statesman  has  lied  and  betrayed. 


ENVY.  357 

Any  one  of  them  will  tell  you  his  pay  has  been  sadly 
inadequate. 

TAKE  A  MAN  LIKE  TRIERS. 

Born  in  an  age  still  drunk  with  the  glory  of  Napoleon, 
but  himself  infused  with  ideas  of  popular  liberty; 
chained  to  the  chariot  of  circumstances,  and  made  to 
swell  the  sawdust-magnificence  of  unpopular  kings 
and  the  ridiculous  success  of  Napoleon  III.,  the  great- 
est impostor  of  all  history,  this  Marie  Joseph  Louis 
Adolphe  Thiers  went  through  a  life  the  bare  retro- 
spect of  which  would  actually  tire  the  mind.  In  his 
old  age  this  little  lover  and  critic  of  greatness — this 
man  who  could  show  the  weaknesses  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  so  clearly  that  one  would  feel  the  critic 
must  be  the  superior  of  Napoleon — this  squeak- 
voiced  orator,  must  have  felt  that  whatever  greatness 
might  come  to  him  in  history  was  well-earned — that 
the  way  had  indeed  been  long  ! 

THE  SAME  OF  GLADSTONE. 

Who  in  his  sane  mind  would  be  Gladstone  living  any 
more  than  Homer  living  ?  Of  course,  he  survives  those 
horrible  crises  in  which  public  duty  has  made  him  the 
most  pitiable  object,  and  in  the  most  dreadful  com. 


35$  ENVY. 

plication  of  great  interests  shines  forth  as  Venus  fresh- 
lighted.  But  I  would  not  have  Gladstone's  fame  for  the 
boon  of  rest  eternal,  from  fear  that  his  retros- 
pect of  inconsistency  and  apostacy  would  be  its  ac- 
companiment, its  deeper  shadow.  Yet  who  shall  blame 
Gladstone?  He  was  the  executor  and  administrator 
of  the  policy  of  a  parvenu  Jew,  one  of  the  very  bad 
men  of  the  earth.  He 

REAPED  ANOTHER  MAN'S  WHIRLWINDS. 

Forced  into  geographical  relations  with  the  Irish,  an 
unwarlike  people  with  indomitable  tongues,  England 
has  in  the  middle  ages,  naturally  done  to  this  unwar- 
like people  just  what  a  warlike  people  would  do  in 
the  middle  ages — taken  everything.  With  painful 
volubility  the  unwarlike  people  has  for  centuries 
sounded  its  fate  over  the  world,  touching  the  heart  of 
Gladstone  and  other  good  Englishmen,  and  tempting 
him  and  them  to  many  struggles.  Behold  him  at 
the  next  step,  then,  in  the  role  of  warring  upon  the 
unwarlike,  of  oppressing  the  oppressed,  of  answering 
an  Irish  clack  with  a  British  click  !  Is  it  not  pitiful  ? 
Gladstone  fell  ill  from  it.  He  paid  there  and  then 
for  his  illustrious  name.  And,  next,  of  those  brave 


ENVY.  359 

Boers  !  God  nerved  their  quick  muscles  and  darted 
straight  their  wonderful  eye;  and  when  the  single 
hand  rose  against  the  hundred  hands  of  British  Bria- 
rius  they  were  not  forsaken.  Oh  !  how  clearly  that 
question  seemed  to  an  American  !  No  geographical 
necessity  was  there — no  race  hatred,  no  hotbed  to  fo- 
ment conspiracy  against  the  sister  country  England. 
The  independence  of  those  Boers,  if  they  desired  it, 
ought  to  have  been  fought  for  by  England,  by  Glad- 
stone, willingly,  irresistibly — in  the  very  name  of 
England's  own  love  of  liberty  for  herself.  And  final- 
ly Gladstone  so  saw  it. 

What  a  puzzle  are  those  Hibernians  ! 

HOW  BITING  THE  WITTICISM  OF  CHIN  LAN  PIN, 

the  Chinese  Ambassador  to  the  United  States,  that 
they  are  able  to  govern  every  other  country  save  their 
own  !  Behold  a  statesman  like  Gladstone,  forced  to 
change  his  policy  toward  them  the  moment  he  has 
the  responsibility  of  governing  them  !  Oh  !  what  an 
opportunity  for  the  little  foxes  !  How  easily  Envy 
spears  him  with  its  jest !  How  truly  Envy  shines 
with  the  wings  of  that  fly  that  passes  all  the  sounder 
parts  of  a  man's  body  to  dwell  upon  the  sores  !  In 


360  ENVY. 

this  rapid  glance  across  two  of  the  trials  of  a  great 
man,  across  the  path  up  to  the  peak  where  one  clamb- 
ering must  bind  himself  with  strong  ropes  to  his  com- 
panions, that  if  one  sink  into  a  snow-covered  abyss 
the  others  may  bring  him  forth — we  get,  perhaps,  a 
truer  view  of 

.    J  THE  MEANNESS  OF  ENVY. 

Let  us  look  at  Gladstone  as  the  great,  wise,  good, 
learned  man  he  is,  whose  wreath  of  laurel  covers  a 
crown  of  thorns.  And  if  we  find  an  associate  mak- 
ing those  fatiguing  efforts  that  ever  precede  the  rec- 
ognition of  this  cold  world,  let  us  glance  rather  at  his 
efforts  than  at  his  fame,  that  no  rust  may  gather  on 
the  brightness  of  our  eye,  and  no  withering  cloud 
shut  out  the  sunlight  from  our  spirits. 

I  CANNOT  CLOSE  THIS  CHAPTER 

without  imploring  the  reader  to  exterminate  this  char- 
acteristic of  envy^  altogether.  Because  it  is  at  first 
so  little  and  so  ridiculous,  envy  often  escapes  the 
hand  of  discipline.  Yet  the  homely  saying  is  a  true 
one  that  "  they  which  play  with  the  devil's  rattles 
will  be  brought  by  degrees  to  wield  his  sword,"  and 


ENVY.  361 

the  force  of  a  nature  given  up  to  envy  is  truly  a  two- 
edged  sword  from  the  bottomless  pit,  cutting  both  the 
fiend  who  smites  and  the  victim  who  smarts. 


Mrs.  Lofty  keeps  a  carriage — 

So  do  I. 
She  has  dappled  grays  to  draw  it — 

None  have  I. — ALMA  CALDER. 


UNQUESTIONABLY,  thebaby- 

carriage  of  the  poet,    with    con- 
tentment, was  a  far  richer  estab- 
lishment than  the  gilded  barouche 
and  the  dappled  grays  of  child- 
less Mrs.  Lofty.     Riches  are  often 
childless;  poverty  is  often  contented.     Hap- 
piness is  a  golden  spell  inwoven  with  most 
^  of  our  lives  at  certain   times,  whether  we 
be  rich  or  poor.     The  first  surprise  of  the 
newly-rich  comes  in   the   non-discovery  of 
additional  happiness.     Additional  cares  and 
duties  come  thickly  enough.     The  greed 


[362] 


CONTENTMENT.  363 

of  the  envious,  and  the  demands  of  the  poor  who  are 
likewise  needy  in  thoughtfulness  for  their  more  fortu- 
nate neighbors,  fall  upon  the  wealthy  like  a  mist. 
There  is  no  escaping  it.  As  James  Russell  Lowell 
says  of  a  Scotch  fog — an  umbrella  will  afford  no  pro- 
tection. They  must  give  all,  or  accept  the  hatred  of 
those  who  believe  it  to  be  easier  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceive. "  Contentment  is  natural  wealth,"  says  Socra- 
tes;"  luxury  is  artificial  poverty."  Contentment  is 
generally  a  sign  of  a  high  class  of  character.  "  If 
two  angels  were  sent  down,"  says  John  Newton, 
"  one  to  conduct  an  empire  and  the  other  to  sweep  a 
street,  they  would  feel  no  inclination  to  change 
employments." 

HUMAN  GREATNESS 

is  at  best  such  a  little  thing  that  wise  men  do  not  la- 
ment its  absence  in  their  own  persons.  Our  main 
pleasures  are  free  to  rich  as  well  as  poor.  What 
sight  is  so  grand  as  the  sun?  What  pleasure  is' 
greater  than  to  breathe?  What  fluid  is  more  grate- 
ful for  all  purposes  than  water?  What  music  is 
sweeter  than  the  singing  of  birds,  the  ringing  of  free 
school  bells  and  the  hum  of  machinery?  The  extra 


364  CONTENTMENT. 

pleasures  which  the  rich  man,  if  he  be  foolish,  tries 
to  buy,  almost  invariably 

END  IN  HIS  EARLY  DEATH, 

and  in  his  hatred  of  the  whole  world.  Those  noble 
men  of  wealth  who  gain  the  plaudits  of  their  fellows, 
have  earned  those  plaudits  just  as  poor  men  would 
earn  them — by  service  to  their  fellow-creatures. 
Man  is  not  constituted  so  that  he  can  "  take  his  ease  " 
and  be  happy.  The  prisoner  in  solitary  confinement 
is  forced  to  take  his  ease,  and  we  are  told  that  he 
suffers  terribly  under  the  ordeal.  Of  course  you 
have  heard  of 

THE  PRISONER  IN  THE  DARK  DUNGEON 

who  had  three  pins,  and  who  gave  himself  employ- 
ment by  throwing  them  into  the  air  and  then  begin- 
ning  the  long  search  which  should  finally  secure  them 
Sometimes  a  pin  would  be  hidden  for  years  in  a  crev- 
ice. In  this  way  the  prisoner  preserved  his  mind 
from  utter  decay,  and  was  almost  happy — nay,  was 
really  happy  when  his  arduous  labor  would  result  in 
the  discovery  of  all  three  of  the  objects  of  his  pitiful 
quest.  Instances  like  this  should  impress  upon  us 


CONTENTMENT.  365 

the  fact  that  the  principal  sum  of  our  happiness  is  in- 
alienable. We  cannot,  in  health,  possibly  lose  it.. 
The  hale  pauper  is  far  better  off  than  the  invalid 
Duke.  We  breathe  and  eat  and  see  and  hear  with 
ease.  All  of  those  offices  of  the  body  are  unquestion- 
ably delightful,  as  is  proven  by  the  relative  view  we 
get  when  we  are  ill  and  can  neither  breathe  nor  eat 
nor  see  nor  hear  without  great  suffering.  "  There  is 
scarce  any  lot  so  low,  "  says  Sterne,  "  but  there  is 
something  in  it  to  satisfy  the  man  whom  it  has  befall- 
en." The  reason  of  this  lies  in  this  same  fact  that 
when  the  tree  of  happiness  loses  superfluous  wealth, 
it  but  loses  its  foliage. 

THE  POOR  MAN  CARRIES  INTO  HIS  COTTAGE 

all  the  great  and  marvelous  blessings  of  life.  He 
leaves  outside  only  a  lot  of  artificialities,  the  most  of 
which  are  so-called  pleasures,  but  are  really  miseries. 
If  we  cannot  be  contented  without  these  artificialities, 
we  certainly  would  not  be  satisfied  with  an  addition 
so  unimportant.  "  A  tub  was  large  enough  for 
Diogenes,"  says  Colton  ;  "  but  a  world  was  too  little 
for  Alexander."  Alexander  valued  the  true  blessings 
of  life  as  nothing,  and  the  power  of  life  and  death 


366  CONTENTMENT. 

over  others  as  everything.  His  disappointment  and 
the  contentment  of  Diogenes,  who  viewed  things 
more  correctly,  ^re  matters  of  tradition.  "  Content- 
ment," says  Fuller,  "  consisteth  not  in  adding  more 
fuel',  but 

IN  TAKING  AWAY  SOME  FIRE." 

Therefore,  if  you  are  spending  so  much  money 
that  you  need  more  income,  take  away  some  of  the 
fire.  If  you  reduce  your  expenses  two  dollars  a  week, 
you  have  added  nearly  eighteen  hundred  dollars  to 
your  account  in  fifteen  years.  If  you  wear  your 
boots  one  month  after  you  could  well  persuade  your- 
self to  have  a  new  pair,  your  new  ones  will  not  wear 
out  a  month  sooner  for  that  reason  ! 

GOOD  FORTUNE  OF  OUR  LITTLE  EGOTISMS. 

We  are  all,  fortunately,  greatly  disposed  to  con- 
tentment with  our  lot.  We  do  not  seem  to  realize 
it,  but  the  importance  of  the  pleasures  of  life  which 
cannot  be  bartered  in,  has  its  noticeable  effect  on  the 
mind.  Horace  remarked  this  ages  ago,  and  Dr. 
Johnson  has  thus  translated  the  thoughts  hinging 
upon  it  :  "Howsoever  every  man  may  complain 


CONTENTMENT.  367 

occasionally,"  says  he,  "  of  the  hardships  of  his  con- 
dition, he  is  seldom  willing  to  change  it  for  any  other 
on  the  same  level.  Whether  it  be  that  he  who  follows 
an  employment,  chose  it  at  first  on  account  of  its 
suitableness  to  his  inclination  ;  or  that  when  accident, 
or  the  determination  of  others,  have  pleased  him  in 
a  particular  station,  he,  by  endeavoring  to  reconcile 
himself  to  it,  gets  the  custom  of  viewing  it  only  on 
the  fairest  side  ;  or  whether  every  man  thinks  that 
class  to  which  he  belongs  the  most  illustrious,  merely 

BECAUSE  HE  HAS  HONORED  IT  WITH  HIS  NAME — 

it  is  certain  that,  whatever  be  the  reason,  most  men 
have  a  very  strong  and  active  prejudice,  in  favor  of 
their  own  vocation,  always  working  upon  their  minds 
and  influencing  their  action."  Let  us  be  thankful  for 
that  laughable  egotism  which  is  born  with  us,  and 
within  us,  and  which,  in  this  natural  and  unobtrusive 
affair  of  contentment,  becomes  a  true  anchor,  holding 
us  inside  the  peaceful  haven. 


Marble  may  rise  from  crystal  waters  spanned 
By  other  marbles  :  founts  may  plash  on  stone, 
And  fashionably-branched  trees  may  stand 
As  thieves  upon  a  scaffold.     Yet,  how  cold  ! 
How  cold  ! 


e  are  made  up  of  elements. 
These  elements  should  be  well 
balanced.  The  delicacy  of  equi- 
librium is  what  makes  the  perfect 
man,  or,  rather,  the  honorable 
man.  Too  much  avarice  makes  a  contemp- 
tibly mean  man;  not  enough  makes  a  foolish 
spendthrift,  who  is  always  appealing  to  his 
friends  for  help.  Too  much  bravery  in  man 
makes  a  bully  ;  not  enough  a  coward.  Too 
much  speech  in  man  makes  a  bore ;  not 
enough  a  "  stick."  Too  much  hope  in  man  makes  a 
speculator  and  a  gambler  ;  not  enough,  a  hermit  and 
a  man-hater.  So  of  ambition.  It  is  a  flame  to  be 
guarded — a  willing  slave,  an  unpitying  master.  In 
its  full  sway  it  is  the  very  essence  of  self-conceit  and 
[368] 


AMBITION.  369 

'selfishness, — two  traits,  a  little  of  which  goes  a  good 
way.  You  know  that  you  do  not  put  much  blueing 
into  a  washtub  full  of  water.  Well,  use  ambition  in 
the  same  sparing  way.  If  you  spill  it  in  using  it,  you 
will  have  a  difficult  affair  on  your  hands.  It  may  be 
just  possible,  of  course,that  you  have  clothes  to  wash, 
so  to  speak,  which  require  the  whole  box  or  bottle. 
If  so,  your  chance  of  happiness  is  not  great. 

"  HE  WHO  SURPASSES   OR  SUBDUES  MANKIND," 

says  Byron,  "must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those 
below."  "  Who  soars  too  near  the  sun,  with  golden 
wings,  melts  them,"  says  Shakspeare.  We  all  have 
upon  us  golden  wings  of  happiness.  Let  us  not  soar 
near  the  sun.  "  Fling  away  ambition,"  mourns  old 
Cardinal  Wolsely  in  Henry  VIII  ;  "  by  that  sin  fell 
the  angels  ;  how  can  man,  then,  the  image  of  his 
Maker,  hope  to  win  by  it?"  "  It  often  puts  men  upon 
doing  the  meanest  offices,"  says  Swift,  "  as  climbing 
is  performed  in  the  same  posture  with  creeping." 
It  has  been  aptly  called  by  Sir  William  Davenant, 

"  THE  MIND'S  IMMODESTY." 

Watch  this  petty  man.     He  is  consumed  by  a  desire 

24 


370  AMBITION. 

to  be  a  little  higher  than  he  now  is.  He  is  driver  on 
a  street  car,  in  a  city.  Unconsciously,  he  is  an  excel- 
lent driver.  He  has  not  become  so  by  the  silent  care 
which  befits  a  real  climber.  No  !  he  was  born 
a  horseman.  But  he  was  also  born  ambitious.  If  he 
were  private  secretary  to  the  President,  he  would 
want  to  be  President,  simply  because  his  -attention 
would  be  more  closely  directed  to  the  Chief  Magis' 
tracy  than  elsewhere. 

BEHOLD  HIM  INSTALLED  AS  CONDUCTOR. 

He  rings  the  bell  incessantly  for  a  milk-wagon  to  get 
out  of  the  road.  The  passengers  expostulate.  One 
of  them  is  drunk,  therefore  extra-expostulatory.  Our 
conductor  beholds  the  moment  arrived  when  he  must 
"  bounce  "  the  passenger.  The  passenger  is  landed 
free  on  track,  with  only  the  conductor's  badge  in  his 
mind,  which  he  reports  to  the  office.  The  next  day 
^he  conductor  tells  a  passenger  to  get  his  feet  off  that 
seat,  or  he  will  put  him  off.  In  a  dispute  which  fol- 
lows, the  conductor  loses  a  chance  to  get  across  a 
swinging-bridge,  and  a  passenger  who  has  thus  missed 
a  train,  gets  angry  and  reports  the  conductor.  The 
driver  is  quietly  asked  about  our  friend,  and  our 


AMBITION.  371 

friend  is  thrown  out  of  his  place  like  a  shot  out  of 
a  gun.  He  is  too  proud  to  drive.again,  and  takes  a 
trip  into  the  country  for  his  health.  This  homely 
drama  is  played  in  all  the  hotels  where  head-waiters 
are  employed,  in  all  the  departments  of  business  where 
head-clerks  are  needed;  in  all  the  great  stores  where 
floor-walkers  " strut  their  brief  hour,"- --every where 
that  gives  an  opportunity  for  little  Envy  to  peep,  from 

THE    RIDICULOUS  AMBUSCADE 

of  some  incompetent  subordinate,  out  upon  the  go- 
ings and  comings  of  unsuspecting  Mei  it.  "  There  is 
a  native  baseness,"  says  Simms,  "  in  the  ambition 
which  seeks  beyond  its  desert,  that  never  shows  more 
conspicuously  than  when,  no  matter  how,  it  tempora- 
rily gains  its  object."  So,  to  me,  there  has  always 
seemed  a  real  baseness  in  these  attempts  of  unfit  people, 
who  have  only  their  self-conceit  for  training  and  their 
cheek  for  capital.  Half  our  failures  in  business  come 
from  men  attempting  something  they  know  nothing 
about.  A  printer  will  open  a  drug  store,  and  a 
country  dry  goods  merchant  will  start  a  daily  paper 
in  a  city  !  "Alas!"  says  Young,  "ambition  makes 
my  little  less." 


372  AMBITION. 

Once  in  a  while  there  is  born,  in  every  State,  a 
soul  which  is  to  be  "like  a  star  and  dwell  apart."  It 
is  to  be  gifted  with  qualities  of  an  exalted  character. 
But  it  is  also  to  be  lashed  with  the  scourge  of  ambi. 
tion.  It  is  to  stand,  as  William  Penn  said, 

"THE  TALLEST  TREE, 

therefore  the  most  in  the  power  of  the  blasts  of  for- 
tune." How  little  should  we  desire  the  dizzy  niche 
in  which  it  seats  itself.  Our  little  heads  would  swim 
in  the  sickness  of  our  unfamiliarity.  We  would  fall. 
"Remarkable  places,"  said  Madame  Necker,  "are 
like  the  summits  of  rocks  ;  eagles  and  reptiles  only 
can  get  there."  Napoleon,  possibly,  never  had  a  true 
friend  in  his  life.  He  certainly  never  deserved  one. 
Each  year  saw  him  surrounded  by  new  associates, 
whom  he  meant  to  sacrifice,  if  he  could. 

UPON   THE  BLOODY  FIELD  OF  ASPERN  AND  ESSLING, 

he  offered  up  Marshal  Lannes.  He  was  forced  to  stand 
by  that  brave  dying  man  and  listen  to  his  awful  re- 
proaches. So,  again,  in  the  terrible  carnage  of  Spain 
at  Eylau,  at  Borodino,  Lutzen,  Bautzen,  Dresden, 
Leipsic,  Hanau,  everywhere,  fe  was  compelled  to 
hear  the  outspoken  protests  of  the  men  who  had  held 


AMBITION.  373 

the  ladder  for  him — to  stamp  his  foot  at  the  constant 
declarations  of  "  Dukes,"  "  Princes,"  and  "  Kings," 
that  he  was  a  monster  whose  thirst  demanded  only 
human  blood.  At  last,  the  whole  world  cried  out 
that  it  had  had 

" ENOUGH  OF  BONAPARTE ! " 

The  expression  became  a  war-cry,  and  the  world  es- 
caped from  the  baleful  sceptre  under  whose  shadow 
it  had  too  long  suspired.  "  What  millions  died  that 
Caesar  might  be  great  !  "  cries  Campbell.  "  None 
think  the  great  unhappy  but  the  great,"  says  Young 
They  deserve  their  unhappiness.  It  is  the  mess  of 
pottage  to  obtain  which  they  have  sold  everything. 
Fame  has  always  seemed  to  the  philosopher  like  some 
mountain  in  a  polar  clime — cold,  lonesome,  inhospit- 
able. 

Tall  mountains  meet,  and  giddy  greet 

The  clouds  in  their  exalted  homes  ; 
What  may  they  show,  save  ice  and  snow, 

Unto  the  fleets  that  pass  their  domes  ? 

Their  crests  are  bold  with  solar  gold : 
Their  charming  cliffs  enchant  the  eye  ; 

Yet  earth  shows  not  more  dreary  spot 
Than  toilers  in  their  heights  descry. 


374  AMBITION. 

There  points  a  peak  which  mortals  seek — 
Fraught  are  its  crags  with  human  woes  ; 

Shrill  through  its  fasts  shriek  envy-blasts — 
Forever  drift  hate's  blinding  snows. 

Its  towering  height  beams  with  a  light — 

The  wondrous  blaze  of  Glory's  orb  ; 
Still  those  who  gaze  feel  most  the  rays, 
While  they  who  climb  no  warmth  absorb. 

Contentment  creeps — Renown  climbs  steeps 
Where  consummations  ne'er  appease  ; 

Below,  how  oft,  when  Care's  aloft, 
Unhappiness,  distrusting,  flees. 


In  ancient  times  the  sacred  plough  employed 
The  kings  and  awful  fathers  of  mankind. 


WORK  of  this  character-a  book 
for  the  home — would  be  mani- 
festly halt  without  some  consider- 
ation of  that  grand  subject,  Agri- 
Culture, — the  tilling  of  the  conti- 
nents of  this  wide  earth,  to  whose 
fruitfulness  the  oceans  apply  their  benefi- 
cent offices  ;  to  whose  generosity  the  sun 
lends  his  quickening  rays  of  brightness  and 
beauty.  "The  awful  fathers  of  mankind  " 
to-day  pay  attention  to  the  "sacred  plough" 
as  in  ancient  days,  aye,  thousands  of  times  as  much 
attention !  The  tribes  which  then  wandered  upon  the 
globe  have  now  increased  until  Nature  must  needs 
groan' with  the  load  of  her  gifts  to  sustain  them,  and  the 
rulers  must  scan  the  sky,  and  send  the  telegraph  out- 
riding the  storms,  to  warn  the  husbandman  that  dan. 

ger  to  his   crops    approaches — danger,  which   if   not 

[375] 


376  THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR. 

averted,  were  more  deadly  than  the  hatred  of  an 
enemy  on  a  foreign  strand. 

The  magnificent,  conservative  forces  of  our  Repub- 
lic live  upon  its  farms.  There  is  our  safety  in 
the  hour  of  trial  !  Rome  fell  because 

HER  LOAFERS  AND  CITYITES 

were  the  only  voters.  They  had  no  homes  to  protect 
— they  had  only  votes  to  sell.  But  here,  with  our 
mighty  experiment  in  human  government,  we  have 
an  irresistible  power,  the  elements  of  which  are 
straight-thinking  men,  who  want  only  the  right  to 
prevail,  and  who  have  wheat  and  corn  to  sell,  but 
absolutely  no  votes !  God  be  thanked  for  this  ! 
When  the  torch  of  Communism  shall 

BURN    THE    SENATE   HOUSE 

in  the  city,  the  swords  which  were  yesterday  plow- 
shares will  surround  the  glaring  pile,  and  steadfastly 
blot  out  of  existence  the  conspiracy  of  the  beer-saloon 
and  the  "dead-fall;"  when  the  bayonet  of  the  gaudy 
foreigner  shall  glisten  on  our  coasts,  the  ranks  of 
farmers  will  hurry,  side  by  side  with  the  metropoli- 
tans, to  chase  the  adventurers  back  into  the  seas. 


THE   REPUBLIC  S    ANCHOR.  377 

"  Agriculture,"  says  Zenophon,  "  for  an  honorable 
and  high  minded  man,  is  the  best  of  all  occupations 
and  arts  by  which  men  obtain  the  means  of  living." 
How  true  this  is  !  One  would  think 

"  BUSINESS  " 

in  the  days  of  the  Greek  were  carried  on  just  as  it  is 
now — the  concourse  of  a  pack  of  men  turned  wolves, 
hungry  for  trade,  and  devouring  each  other  in  the 
absence  of  common  sustenance.  To  succeed  in  busi- 
ness in  a  city  in  this  epoch,  and  to  be  at  the  same 
time  a  high-minded  and  honorable  man,  is  very  rare 
— is  usually  the  result  of  employing  lieutenants  to  do 
the  "business,"  and  keeping  the  "dirty  work"  away 
from  the  knowledge  of  the  principal.  But  when  the 
farmer  drives  a  bargain  with 

"  THE  GOOD  GODDESS  " 

how  clean  is  the  transaction  !  There  is  no  lying,  no 
cheating,  no  treachery,  no  rivalry.  How  frank  and 
open  is  the  face  of  him  who  has  concealed  nothing  ! 
How  hearty  is  his  laugh — for  has  he  not  laughed 
with  nature — with  the  twitter  of  the  birds,  with  the 
low  beating  of  the  bells  ?  Has  he  not  faithful  friends- 


378      THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR. 

friends  of  a  life-time?  When  he  has  gone  into  debt 
has  he  not  paid  ?  Has  he  ever  considered 

FIFTY  CENTS  ON  HIS  NEIGHBOR'S  DOLLAR 

a  full  return,  and  has  he  walked  into  his  neighbor's 
parlor  (shabby  for  lack  of  the  fifty  per  cent)  and 
congratulated  him  on  the  return  of  the  holidays  ?  A 
spade  is  a  spade  with  him.  A  thief  is  a  thief.  He 
does  not  like  thieves.  He  says  so.  Neither  does 
his  city  cousin  like  thieves.  His  city  cousin  is  very 
careful  not  to  say  so.  He  does  not  like  monopolies, 
he  says  so.  Neither  does  his  city  cousin  like  monop- 
olies. His  city  cousin  would  "  turn  off"  any  clerk 
who  said  so  very  loudly,  let  alone  saying  it  himself. 
He  does  not  like  corruption  and  hypocrisy.  On  this 
point  his  city  cousin  has 

POSITIVELY  NO  OPINION, 

as  "  it  really  would  ruin  his  business."  Thus  we  see 
the  farmer — free,  ingenuous,  independent.  Thus»we 
see  the  city  merchant — smooth,  prudent,  sycophantic. 
Thank  God  for  Agriculture  !  And  now 

CANNOT  WE  INSPIRE  YOUNG  MEN 

with  a  kittle  truer  idea    of   life  ?     Cannot   we   teach 


THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR.  379 

them  that  money  in  itself  is  not  what  they  want 
above  all  things  ?  How  little  wealth  the  really  wise 
find  necessary  !  On  the  farm  is  health,  independence, 
high  standing — all  within  the  reach  of  any  young 
man.  He  certainly  sacrifices  one  or  two  of  these  ob- 
jects when  he  enters  a  city.  He  can  get  money  but 
he  will  lose  his  health.  If  he  get  true  independence 
he  will  be 

ONE  OUT  OF  TEN    THOUSAND, 

all  the  rest  of  whom  are  slaves.  With  the  new  com- 
binations forming  in  the  business  of  the  world,  new 
experiences  are  constant.  The  man  employing  three 
hundred  fortunate  workers  to-day,  may  be  himself 
searching  for  work  next  year.  The  man  getting 
$5,000  a  year  to-day  may  next  week  be  trying  to 
find  labor  at  a  dollar  a  day,  and  may  absolutely  fail. 
The  financial  panic  has  no  such  thing  in  store  for  the 
farmer.  He  will  live  on,  just  as  his  brook  runs  on, 
and  when  the  sleek  magnates  in  the  hotel-parlor  de- 
cree that  he  must  lose  his  farm,  as  they  need  it  for  a 
"colony,"  he  will  rise  up  arid  smite  them,  and  there- 
after the  sleek  magnate  will  be  an  affair  of  the  past. 
Young  man,  if  you  have  not  an  absolute  genius  for 


380  THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR. 

something  else,  stay  on  the  farm.  Read  books  which 
will  make  you  desire  to  be  a  pure  man,  just  for  the 
noble  name  it  will  give  you.  If  you  can  get  as  great 
a  desire  to  be  a  good  man  as  you  have  to  be  a  purse- 
proud  man,  you  will  be  on  the  right  track  ;  for  you 
will  see  that  honesty  is  easier  in  the  perfumed  fields 
than  it  is  in  the  polluted  air  of  a  city  business-house. 
Read  over  the  biographies,  and  see  how  certainly  all 
our  great  men  got  their  greatness  in  the  open  air  of 
the  country.  Take  a  big  city,  for  instance.  Has  it 
not  surprised  you  to  see  how  few  great  men  New 
York  or  Chicago  have  furnished  to  the  nation?  The 
city  levels  men.  It  drags  them  down.  Their  indi- 
vidualities are  put  into  a  dredge-box,  and  the  flour  of 
mediocrity  is  scattered  on  all  alike. 

"  IN  A  MORAL  POINT  OF  VIEW," 

says  Lord  John  Russell,  "  the  life  of  the  agriculturist 
is  the  most  pure  and  holy  of  any  class  of  men  ;  pure 
because  it  is  the  most  healthful,  and  vice  can  hardly 
find  time  to  contaminate  it;  and  holy  because  it 
brings  the  Deity  perpetually  before  his  view,  giving 
him  thereby  the  most  exalted  notions  of  supreme 


THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR.  381 

power,  and  the  most  fascinating  and   endearing  view 
of  moral  benignity." 

Farmers,  you  take  pains  to  get  two  teams,  so  that 
the  boys  can  take  hold  at  the  ploughing  and  in  the 
corn.  See  to  it  that  you  also  get  the  boys  a  light 
wagon,  so  that  they  can  go  to  a  pic-nic  or  a  bee  with- 
out discommoding  you. 

START  YOUR  BOYS  OUT  IN    THIS  WAY, 

and  they  will  not  abuse  their  opportunities.  Instead 
of  going  six  miles  on  Sunday  to  a  lake  or  river,  they 
will  "  turn  out "  of  their  own  accord  and  go  to 
church  with  their  heads  up,  self-reliant,  perhaps  just 
a  little  bit  proud.  Why?  Because  when  they  sneak 
off  to  a  river,  it  is  because  they  have  nothing  with 
which  they  are  decently  pleased  for  all  their  hard  toil. 
Make  your  home  a  pleasant  place  for  your  sons,  even 
if  it  be  at  great  hazards.  It  will  all  come  out  right- 
Give  the  children  some  comforts  before  you  take  big 
chances  on  a  short-horn  herd.  Rig  up  a  bath-room, 
a  swing,  a  sort  of  gymnasium.  Buy  games  of  recre- 
ation,  such  as  your  taste  approves.  Buy  above 
all  things  good  books  and  plenty  of  them.  Remember 


382  THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR. 

some  book  in  your  own  old  childhood-home!  What  a 
gigantic  influence  that  book  has  exercised  on  your 
whole  life  !  It  does  not  seem  to  you  that  your  sons 
will  pay  so  much  attention  to  the  books  in  your 
house,  but  they  will.  Some  one  book  will  furnish  a 
key  to  a  life — will  sway  its  reader  while  young,  while 
old,  until  he  goes  over  the  bounds  of  its  dominion  into 
the  next  life.  You  and  Society  both  desire  your 
young  people  to 

STAY    OUT    OF    THE    CITIES. 

The  safety  of  our  Great  Republic  entirely  depends 
upon  the  existence  of  a  conservative  class  of  indepen- 
dent individuals,  unable  to  become  crazed,  through 
laziness,  over  some  miserable  idea  unconnected  with 
the  business  of  living.  When  any  great  wrong  is  to 
be  righted  by  absolute  force  it  is  necessary  that  the 
body  exercising  that  force  should  be  amenable  to  a 
sense  of  practical  justice.  If  it  shall  be  necessary  to  take 
the  railroads  away  from  their  owners,  or  to  close  the 
boards  of  trade,  or  to  go  the  other  way  and  farm  out 
the  post-office  and  machinery  of  the  government  to 
get  rid  of  the  crime  of  office-hunting, — why 
then,  the  action  of  independent  men  is  nee- 


THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR.  383 

essary — the  doings  of  wage-workers  are  not 
satisfactory,  and  are  almost  always  fatal  to  the  order 
of  things  which  was  to  be  renovated.  If  this  Repub- 
lic have  any  vitality  not  enjoyed  formerly  by  the 
democracies  now  buried  in  the  yellow  pages  of  his- 
tory, it  is  the  tremendous  scope  of  her  quarter-sec- 
tion farms.  Not  many  years  ago  one  of  the  largest 
business  houses  in  Chicago  put  up  a  placard,  just 
before  election,  stating  that  the  proprietor  considered 
his  interests  justly  the  interests  of  his  clerks,  and  it 
was  decidedly  to  his  interests  to  have  the  Honorable 
Barnacle  Bigbug  re-elected.  All  employes  were  re- 
quested to  note  well.  You  see  the  crime  of  this  dry- 
goods  "prince"  (how  we  all  run  to  idiotic  titles !)  lay  in 
subordinating  the  good- of  the  State  to  the  good  of 
his  particular  millions.  He  totally  forgot  that  the 
good  of  each  clerk  was  as  much  to  be  looked  after 
by  the  Government  as  the  good  of  his  own  ambitious 
ftesh  and  blood.  He  drowned  every  principle  of  de- 
mocracy in  the  monarchical  desire  to  "get  it  all  and 
then  give  some  away."  The  desire  to  give  away  is 
where  the  theory  gives  away.  Now  this  can 
happen  on  the  farm. 


384        THE  REPUBLIC'S  ANCHOR. 

The  plutocrats  must  always  tremble  before  the  man 
with  hay-seed  in  his  hair.  They  cannot  reach  him. 
They  cannot  tempt  or  debauch  him.  Teach  this  to 
your  sons.  Teach  it  with  horses,  buggies,  churches, 
pic-nics,  schools,  books,  rest,  and  travel.  Take  the 
boys  to  the  rank -smelling  cities;  show  them  the  fac- 
tories, the  store-gangs,  and  the  street  gangs.  Then 
they  will  go  home  with  joy  in  their  hearts,  and  when 
Old  Brindle  moos  and  Old  Sorrel  whinnies  in  recog- 
nition at  their  gate  you  may  be  sure  that  the  greedy 
city  will  never  swallow  up  your  sturdy  sons,  the 
pride  of  your  declining  years.  I  have  been  some- 
what earnest  in  this  because  my  life  on  a  farm  was 
harder  than  circumstances  make  imperative  now-a- 
days.  Clearing  is  heavy  work.  The  culture  of  an 
Indiana  opening  among  stumps  that  make  a  field 
look  like  a  drag  turned  wrong-side-up  leaves  little 
chance  for  gymnasium  or  bath-room.  But  all  that 
is  gone  by.  I  have  been  earnest,  again,  because 

THE    FOREIGNERS 

are  all  getting  our  farms,  while  our  own  folk  seem  to 
think  that  a  precarious   existence  as  a   rich   man's 


THE    REPUBLIC  S    ANCHOR. 

slave  in  the  city,  is  a  more  sensible  thing  than  to  take 
advantage  of  opportunities  for  which-  the  people  of 
other  worlds  tear  out  their  heart-strings,  leave  native 
climate,  language,  habits,  government,  everything, 
and  hurry  hitherward.  For  shame  upon  ourselves  ! 

My  lord  rides  through  his  palace  gate; 
My  lady  sweeps  along  in  state  ; 
The  sage  thinks  long  on  many  a  thing 
And  the  maiden  muses  on  marrying ; 
The  minstrel  harpeth  merrily, 
The  sailor  plows  the  foaming  sea, 
The  huntsman  kills  the  good  red  deer, 
And  the  soldier  wars  withouta  fear-; 

Nevertheless,  whatever  befall, 

The  farmer  he  must  feed  them  att. 


O  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine  ;  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be  known  by, 
(et  us  call  thee— devil. — SHAKSPEARE. 


OCIETY  has  much  to  attend  to. 
The  whole  wonderful  mechanism 
by  which  those  citizens  who  now 
do  measurably  right,  can  have  bless- 
ings far  beyond  the  totals  of  luxuries 
enjoyed  by  Kings  a  few  centuries  ago — 
whole  mechanism,  I  think,  has  been 
perfected  by  one  law,  the  self-interest  of 
the  class  wielding  the  force  necessary  to 
compel  the  change  desired.  To-day, 
among  the  evils  which  we  suffer, — not  as 
results  of  the  new  civilization,  but  as  ves- 
tiges of  the  old  barbarism, — is  the  abuse  of  stimulants. 
The  effects  of  this  abuse  are,  perhaps,  next  to  atro- 
cious crime,  the  most  discouraging  *which  menace 
the  march  of  progress,  and 

EVEN  THE  ANNALS  OF  ATROCIOUS  CRIME 

so  closely  link  the  curse  of  strong  drink  with  deeds 
[385; 


TEMPERANCE.  387 

of  violence  as  to  totally  extinguish  the  mark  of  differ- 
ence in  the  minds  of  many  good  men.  Society  as  to- 
day organized,  commits  the  keeping  of  a  woman  to 
the  hands  of  a  man,  who  in  turn,  is  legally  free  to  con- 
demn her  to  the  horrors  of  companionship  with  a  man 
(that  man  being  himself)  bereft  periodically  or  con- 
tinuously of  his  moral  motives  of  conduct.  He  is  en- 
titled by  law  to  return  to  his  wretched  home  with 
murder  in  his  heart,  and  to  vent  upon  a  woman,  from 
whom  he  fears  no  defense,  the  anger  which 

IT  WOULD  BE  UNSAFE  TO  MANIFEST 

toward  the  person  who  may  have  originally  inspired 
the  passion.  The  point  at  which  this  cruelty  be- 
comes practically  illegal  is  that  limit  which  the  wife 
puts  to  her  own  endurance,  which  in  turn,  is  generally 
gauged  not  by  her  own  powers,  but  by  the  personal 
safety  of  her  children.  So  long  as  her  own  life  seems 
to  be  alone  in  jeopardy,  she  waits  to  be  killed — as  in 
the  notable  case  at  Minneapolis,  Minn., — and  Society 
permits  itself  to  be  called  in  simply  to  attend  the  fu- 
neral of  the  murdered  woman,  who,  however,  is  often 
buried  as  a  victim  of  some  hypothetical  disease,  in- 


TEMPERANCE. 

• 

vented  to  take  the  blame  off  the  prevailing  order  of 
things.  Now  while  this  is 

ENTIRELY    HORRIBLE    IN     THE    ABSTRACT, 

the  abstract  is  notoriously  a  false  way  ot  getting  the 
general  drift  of  things.  The  abstract  philosopher, 
the  moment  he  is  charged  with  the  practical  conduct 
of  an  affair,  as  a  general  rule,  fails  ignominiously, 
even  in  his  own  opinion.  With  regard  to  drunkenness, 
for  instance,  let  us  ask  ourselves  :  "  Is  drunkenness 
less  prevalent  now  than  in  olden  times  ?"  Yes. 
"Is  the  condition  of  the  woman  better,  in  addition  to 
the  improved  habits  of  the  man?"  Yes.  Therefore, 
it  is  evident  Society, 

THE    GRAND    MACHINE 

(let  us  never  say  "  Society  "  when  we  mean  spike- 
tailed  coats),  has  an  eye  on  the  scourge  of  Rum,  and 
will  eventually  stamp  it  out.  "  But  why,"  asks  the 
Impracticable,  "does  not  Society  stamp  it  out  at 
once  ?"  "  Why  does  not  the  sun  shine  twenty-four 
hours  in  America  on  the  Fourth  of  July  ?"  Simply 
because  America  is  not  the  whole  world.  Neither 


TEMPERANCE.  389 

is  the  subject  of  the  murder  of  wives  and  the  degra- 
dation of  offspring  the  whole  affair  with  which  Socie- 
ty deals. 

THE   FIRST   GREAT    DUTY   OF   SOCIETY 

is  to  feed  and  clothe  her  individuals.  This  burden  is 
just  beginning  to  sit  on  her  shoulders  without  galling 
weight.  The  next  effort  is  to  protect  the  more  in- 
dustrious against  the  forays  of  the  wicked  and  the 
mistakes  of  the  unwise.  This  is  the  problem  with 
which  the  past  century  has  had  most  to  deal.  It  is 
an  immeasurably  greater  question  than  is  that  of 
drunkenness,  and  it  is  immeasurably  far  from  solution. 
For  instance,  a  foolish  statesman  can  to-day 
plunge  fifty  millions  of  people  into 

WAR 

— a  thing  represented  among  words  by  three  letters, 
but  which  among  events  entirely  fails  to  find  com- 
plete expression,  from  the  lack  of  any  other  misfor- 
tune worthy  of  comparison.  An  angry  statesman, 
acting  like  a  boy,  may  stop,  not  a  game  of  marbles, 
but  ten  thousand  grain-laden  ships.  But,  notwith- 


390  TEMPERANCE. 

standing,  as  an  attendant  in  the  betterment   of  her 

condition,  Society  is  advancing  rightly   toward  the 

rum-bottle.  She  does  not  hearken  always  to  the 
voice  of 

THE  PROFESSIOFAL  TEMPERANCE  "WORKER" 

because  a  betterment  in  Society  is  naturally  and 
rightly  the  result  of  self-interest.  The  man  who 
spends  his  time  altogether  in  the  bettering  of  others 
does  not  establish  reforms  on  the  surest  basis.  Soci- 
ety usually  has  to  do  his  work  after  him,  with  consid- 
erable delay  and  additional  cost.  He  is  all  right  in 
the  abstract,  but  he  delays  matters.  What  I  would 
illustrate  is  this  :  The  place  for  the  reformer  to  deal 
with  drink  on  a  fair  battle  field  is  in  the  city.  The 
place  where  the  professional  reformer  finds  it  profita- 
ble to  go  is  in  the  country,  where  the  youth  wear 

THE   BADGE    OF    TEMPERANCE 

in  their  cheeks — not  in  the  button-hole  of  their  coats. 
In  the  country,  surrounded  by  circles  of  persons  as 
free  from  stimulants  or  the  need  of  them  as  is  their 
snow  from  the  smut  of  soft-coal,  they  swear  eternal 


TEMPERANCE.  39! 

"  conversion  "  to  the  views  of  a  man — usually  a  for 
mer  victim  of  intoxication, — often  a  subsequent  wal- 
lower  in  his  same  old  gutters.  Society  sometimes 
looks  upon  this  Peter  the  Hermit  with  little  pleasure. 
The  excitements,  the  passions  and  the  commotions 
which  he  sometimes  foments  are  pitiable  from  the 
very  fact  that 

NO   RUM   CAN     BE   BLAMED 

as  having  fired  the  unhappy  brains  that  rush  into  the 
vortex  of  public  confusion,  like  ships  into  the  whirl- 
pool. All  the  practical  laws  would  be  passed  (and 
at  a  date  earlier  than  that  at  which  the  public  finally 
accept  them  in  reality)  without  the  sacrifices  of  the 
man  who  proudly  calls  himself  a  "  horrible  example" 
of  the  power  of  strong  drink.  How  does  Society  do 
it?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  All  I  know  is  this  : 

ON    THE    REAL    BATTLE-GROUND, 


in  the  city,  where  stimulant  is  often  needed — whisky, 
iron,  quinine,  coffee,  tobacco,  opium,  or  tea — the 
men  who  waste  the  most  nerve-tissue  are  more  rigid- 
ly required  to  abstain  from  the  abuse  of  stimulants 


392  TEMPERANCE, 

than  was  the  case  fifteen  years  ago.  To  put  it  plain- 
er, fifteen  years  ago,  a  smart  man  would  be  employ- 
ed on  a  newspaper  to  "write"  or  "report".  If  he 
were  brilliant,  he  was  entitled  almost  by  custom  to 
"  go  on  the  war-path  "  once  a  week — that  is,  to  be 
drunk  that  often,  and  to  be  totally  unable  or  unwilling 
to  do  the  current  day's  work. 

NOW-A-DAYS, 

iv 

if  a  man  in  the  same  position  were  to  get  drunk  once 
a  year  he  would  be  superseded.  No  matter  how 
brilliant  he  may  be,  the  drunkard  at  once  sinks  to 
the  bottom.  The  "fat  jobs"  are  filled  by  men  as 
steady  as  clock-work.  How  has  Society  done  this 
wonderful  thing  ?  Hard  to  tell.  She  has  constantly 
tempted  the  steady  man.  In  fact,  she  inclines  to 
treat  him  a  shade  the  better  if  he  can  drink  some 
stimulant  each  day  without  unbalancing  himself — 
some  alcohol,  some  coffee  or  some  tea — but 

WOE  TO    HIM 

if  he  transgress  her  limits.  In  the  country  it  is  asked 
"Does  he  drink?"  In  the  city  it  is  asked  "Does  he 


TEMPERANCE.  393 

get  drunk  ?"  The  two  methods  are  essentially  the 
results  of  two  conditions.  The  mistake  of  the  one 
locality  is  to  apply  its  own  preliminary  to  the  other. 
Now,  again,  to  this  frightful  question  of  woman-tor- 
ture :  Society  knows  all  about  woman.  It  knows 
that  the  wife  must  be  the  arbiter  of  her  own  suffer- 
ings. Her  brother,  being  less  wise  than  Society,  sep- 
arates the  wife  from 

THE   OCCASIONAL  BRUTE 

who  married  her,  takes  her  ills  and  her  children  to 
his  house,  kicks  the  brute  on  the  street,  and,  for  all 
his  pains,  is  eventually  either  assassinated  by  the 
wretch  or  anathematized  by  the  wife.  Having  made 
matters  much  worse  (by  unanimous  opinion),  he 
abandons  his  reform,  and  then,  with  his  valuable  ex- 
perience, joins  Society  and  becomes  a  wave  in  the 
tide  of  events,  instead  of  a  presumptuous  pebble  roll- 
ing in  small  opposition  on  the  beach  of  time.  How 
will  Society  approach  the  wife-beater  ?  Nobody 
knows.  Probably  she  will  exterminate  the  breed. 
The  woman,  like  the  newspaper  proprietor,  will  at 
last  awake.  The  man  who  gets  drunk  will  not  gain 


394  TEMPERANCE. 

her  affections — above  all,  he  will  not  keep  them. 
The  "old  soak"  will  be  wifeless.  Monsters  will 
cease  to  propagate  their  species.  When  once  the 
strong  hand  of  Bread-and-Butter  gets  hold  of  Whisky, 
then  whisky  will  be  as  useful  for  good  as  it  now  is 
powerful  in  evil.  Society  however  deals  with  the 
affections  cautiously,  and  wisely,  because  her  experi- 
ence is  inconceivably  great. 

TRY  PLAYING  ON  HEARTSTRINGS  YOURSELF 

to  hear  the  music  you  make  !  Let  us  then  pray  for 
the  day  when  the  "drop  too  much"  with  the  bottle 
will  be  as  nefarious  as  a  cut  too  much  with  the  razor, 
or  a  blaze  too  much  with  the  torch. 


26 


Virtue  maketh  men  on  the  earth  famous,  in  their  graves  illustrious,  in  the 
heavens  immortal.— CHILD. 


ERHAPS  there  is  no  man  so 
well   known   and   yet   so  little 
thought  about  in  any  one  com- 
munity as  he  who,  in  the  uni- 
versal  opinion,   bears   a    good 
name.    Upon  his  brow  he  wears 
the  modern  laurel,  the  highest 
emblem   of    his   worth,   yet   the   simplest 
tribute  of  his  fellow  citizens. 

There  are  certain  exigencies  in  the  his 
tories  of  all  groups  of  people  when  the  or- 
dinary machinery  of  life  will  not  operate. 
The  citizens  require  the  utmost  letter  of 
the  bond;  they  look  with  suspicion  on  all 
who  have  usually  given  satisfaction  by  their  ser- 
vices. A  great  man  is  needed.  It  is  then  that  the 
people,  with  one  voice,  cry  out  for  succor  from  him  of 

of  whom,  in  days  of  greater  prosperity ,  they  had  no  im- 
[395] 


396  A  GOOD  NAME. 

ploring  need  ;  and  it  is  then  astonishing  to  what  a  de- 
gree the  voice  of  the  people  at  once  becomes  the 
voice  of  God. 

A  bank  which,  owing  to  its  high-sounding  title,  had 
attracted  the  savings  of  the  people,  fell  into  the  hands 
of  a  clique  of  scoundrels  and  was  compelled  to  sud- 
denly suspend,  the  President  flying  to  a  distant  land 
to  escape  the  penalties  of  his  crimes.  When  thirteen 
thousand  depositors  were  thus  confronted  with  total 
or  partial  ruin,  there  was  but  one  man  in  a  great  city 
whom  they  would  trust  to  enter  the  desecrated  temple 
of  their  hopes  and  set  to  rights  the  treasure  yet  un- 
stolen.  This  man  came 

LIKE  CINCINNATUS  FROM  HIS  FARM 

like  a  father  to  his  children — and  from  the  hearts  of 
plundered  widows  and  orphans  there  breathed  relief 
in  every  sigh.  In  peaceful  times  this  great  man  was 
seldom  heard  of  ;  rogues  could  be  elected  over  him  to 
places  of  usual  trust ;  but,  in  a  crisis,  his  whole  biog- 
raphy seemed  embossed  upon  the  people's  hearts,  ris- 
ing forth  like  muscles  in  an  agony. 

Again  a  city — itself  an  exhalation,  rising  like  Mil- 
ton's hall    of   Pandemonium — perished   in   a   night. 


A   GOOD   NAME.  397 

Where,  in  one  week,  there  had  been  one  hundred 
"  leading  candidates  ''  for  Mayor,  in  the  next  week 
there  was  none  so  rash  as  to  offer  himself.  A  strick- 
en city — the  pity  of  a  Christlike  world — cast  its  eyes 
upon  one  citizen. ;  and  he,  as  an  act  of  supreme  duty, 
took  the  perilous  post  of  helmsman  through  a  storm 
that  unsettled  the  deeps  of  credit  and  prosperity  all 
over  the  earth. 

In  each  of  these  illustrations  party  politics  played 
no  part.  Tall  masts  were  needed  for  the  great  ships, 
and  these  two  men,  like  red-wood  patriarchs,  touched 
hard  against  the  zenith  of  the  people's  vision.  Admir- 
able tributes  !  Magnificent  rewards  of  life-times  of 
virtue  and  high  character  ! 

THE  SILENT  GROWTH  OF    REPUTATION. 

How  does  a  man  become  so  great  that  malice  and 
envy  and  utter  hatred  cannot  by  their  constant  stings 
infect  his  blood?  How  can  a  man  silently  amass  a 
capital  of  virtuous  renown  which,  when  the  clear 
vision  of  adversity  is  given  to  the  people,  will  show 
with  unerring  certainty  his  assets  and  liabilities  of 
character?  It  is  hard  to  say.  Accidents  and  cir- 
cumstances so  surround  us  all  that  we  are  the  clay, 


398  A  GOOD    NAME. 

baked  either  in  fair  moulds  or  foul.  When  the  mould 
is  made  we  have  the  least  judgment ;  yet  when  the 
clay  is  baked  we  must  abide. 

Josh  Billings  has  said  that,  "  after  the  age  of  forty, 
a  man  cannot  form  new  habits  ;  the  best  he  can  do  is 
to  learn  to  steer  the  old  ones."  Yoke,  therefore,  the 
ox  you  call  Firmness  with  the  one  you  call  Content- 
ment. When  you  come  to  drive  them  down  the  road 
the  neighbors  may  laugh  at  the  hawing  and  jeeing, 
and  jee-hawing,  but  keep  on  until  you  break  your 
oxen  in.  No  man  ever  got  so  he  could  handle  that 
team  but  had 

A    HIGH  STANDING  ON  THE  ROAD  OF  LIFE. 

Never  discuss  other  folks'  affairs  except  with  the 
common-sense  view  of  doing  the  folks  good.  Never 
start  out  to  do  a  thing  which  is  impossible  of  execution. 
Never  start  back  after  you  have  started  out.  Never  pay 
the  slightest  attention  to  the  criticism  of  persons  who 
are  trying  to  do  what  you  are  trying  to  do.  When 
he  who  has  ever  done  you  a  kindness  gets  angry  and 
addresses  you  angrily,  ponder  on  every  word  he  says- 
Pearls  then  drop  from  his  mouth.  Live  in  no  great 
regard  of  the  passing  fashion  ;  it  may  be  a  very  fool- 


A  GOOD    NAME.  399 

ish  one,  and  people  who  are  foolish  have  a  surprising 
power  of  perception  in  pointing  to  folly  in  others. 
Owe  no  man  other  than  your  good  office.  Have  no 
pride  above  your  fellow  mortal ;  he  is  essentially  like 
you. 

THE  BAG   OF    THINGS 

in  which  ye  are  alike  (if  each  thing  were  a  grain  of 
wheat)  would  freight  a  ship  ;  the  things  in  which  you 
are  better  than  he  could  be  put  into  your  vest-pocket. 
Gold  does  not  tarnish,  and  good  names  do  not  soil 
easily,  though  herein  custom  has  something  to  do  with 
the  affair.  "  The  soul's  calm  sunshine  "  however, 
should  spread  abroacl.  It  often  reflects  hidden  beauty 
in  other  faces.  "Be  just,  and  fear  not."  You  may 
stand  apparently  without  honor  when  )'ou  have  it 
most.  If  you  are  the  man  of  good  name  in  your 
community,  you  are  on  the  high  hill  where  your  peo- 
ple will  gather  in  time  of  need,  as  did  the  ancients 
to  the  rocky  acropolis. 


Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 

And  "Let  us  worship  God,':  he  says,  with  solemn  air. — BURNS. 


HE  good  and  holy  custom  of 
family  prayers  is,  I  fear,  dropping 
into  disuse.  Our  lives  are  so  full 
of  business  that  a  season  of  God's 
service  in  the  morning  and  in  the 
evening  is  almost  thought  to  be  an  ex- 
cuse of  sloth.  But  what  a  sad  effect  do 
we  see  on  our  youth!  They  have  quick 
eyes  for  cant  and  hypocrisy.  They  fol- 
low us  to  church  on  Sunday  less  and  less 
willingly,  until  finally  there  is  rebellion 
in  their  hearts  and  irreligion  in  their 
souls.  Family  worship  is  a  fount  of 
piety  pure  enough  for  even  the  young,  who  are  pure 
themselves.  Into  its  depths  they  look  and  see  only  a 
chastity  of  spirit  reflected.  The  machinery  and  the 
ambition  that  adulterate  the  true  faith  at  the  church 

have  not  had  their  birth  at  the  fireside  of  a  good 
[400] 


WORSHIP.  401 

man.  At  that  fireside  the  child  grows  up  religious, 
because  he  loves  religion.  It  is  kind  and  good  to 
him.  His  shrine  is  at  home.  And  where  can  we  ever 
build 

SO    HOLY    AN    ALTAR 

as  at  that  sweet  spot  where  life  has  come  in  upon  us, 
and  love  been  wrapped  around  us!  Burns  sees  the 
humble  cotter  finish  his  family  service  in  the  presence 
of  his  little  ones,  and  then,  to  show  a  further  duteous 
regard  for  the  souls  intrusted  to  his  care,  kneel  again 
with  the  wife  : 

The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 
And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 

That  he  who  stills  the  raven's  clamorous  nest, 
And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride, 

Would  in  the  way  his  wisdom  sees  the  best, 
For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide; 

But  chiefly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

"From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur 
springs,"  sings  the  sweet  poet,  and  this  very  poem 
has  touched  a  chord  in  the  hearts  of  all  humanity,  in 
every  clime,  and  nearly  every  tongue,  that  has  almost 
doubled  that  Scotia's  fame.  "  A  house  without  family 
worship,"  says  Mason,  "has  neither  foundation  nor 

covering."     "Measure  not  men  by  Sundays,"  says 

afi 


402  WORSHIP. 

Fuller,  "without  regarding  what  they  do  all  the 
week  after."  "Educate  men  without  religion, "said 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  "  and  you  make  them  but 
clever  devils." 

THE    IRON    DUKE 

was  forced  to  fight  one  of  the  cleverest  of  this  kind, 
and  his  victory  was  earned  so  hardly  that  he  remem- 
bered it.  "  The  dullest  observer  must  be  sensible," 
says  Washington  Irving,  "  of  the  order  and  serenity 
prevalent  in  those  households  where  the  occasional 
exercise  of  a  beautiful  form  of  worship  in  the  morning 
gives,  as  it  were,  the  key-note  to  every  temper  for  the 
day,  and  attunes  every  spirit  to  harmony."  "  It  is 
for  the  sake  of  man,  not  of  God,"  says  Blair,  "  that 
worship  and  prayers  are  required;  not  that  God  may 
be  rendered  more  glorious,  but  that  men  may  be  made 
better — that  he  may  acquire  those  pious  and  virtuous 
dispositions  in  which  his  highest  improvement  con- 
sists." How  can  religion  bear  fruit  so  well  as  by 
daily  instruction  from  God?  How  can  the  family 
bear  its  burdens  more  easily  than  with  God's  help? 

HOW  CAN  THE  £ROOD  BE  GATHERED  TOGETHER 

at  night  so  surely  as  when  there  is  an  engagement 


WORSHIP. 

with  the  Creator  at  the  hearth  where  life  began?  In 
all  views,  from  all  sides,  this  holy  custom  is  seen  to 
be  founded  in  divine  wisdom — and  divine  wisdom 
includes  human  wisdom  "  as  the  sea  her  waves." 

I  have  prefaced  this  subject  of  worship  with  the 
matter  of  family  services,  on  account  of  its  vital  im- 
portance. Without  the  reading  of  the  Bible  and  the 
praise  of  God  at  home,  worship  appears  to  the  young 
like  the  grinding  of  the  corn,  the  shoeing  of  the 
horses,  or  the  aid  of  the  physician — a  matter  to  be 
paid  for  rather  than  to  be  done  by  one's  self. 

SOME  OF  THE  HAPPIEST  AND  BEST  FAMILIES, 

who  have  turned  out  into  the  world  the  strongest, 
bravest  men,  have  not  limited  their  worship  to  stated 
hours,  even,  but  upon  occasions  of  unusual  peril  or 
unusual  gladness  have  poured  out  to  God  their  prayers 
or  their  gratitude.  Charnock,  in  his  "Attributes," 
says :  "  As  to  private  worship,  let  us  lay  hold  of  the 
most  melting  .opportunities  and  frames.  When  we 
find  our  hearts  in  a  more  than  ordinary  spiritual 
frame,  let  us  look  upon  it  as  a  call  from  God  to  attend 
Him;  such  impressions  and  notions  are  God's  voice, 
inviting  us  into  communion  with  Him  in  some  par- 


404  WORSHIP. 

ticular  act  of  worship,  and  promising  us  some  suc- 
cess in  it.  When  the  Psalmist  had  a  secret  notion 

'TO  SEEK   GOD'S  FACE' 

and  complied  with  it,  the  issue  is  the  encouragement 
of  his  heart,  which  breaks  out  into  an  exhortation  to 
others  to  be  of  good  courage,  and  wait  on  the  Lord: 
'  Wait  on  the  Lord  and  be  of  good  courage,  and  He 
shall  strengthen  thy  heart;  wait,  I  say,  on  the  Lord.' 
One  blow  will  do  more  on  the  iron  when  it  is  hot, 
than  a  hundred  when  it  is  cold;  melted  metals  may 
be  stamped  with  any  impression;  but  once  hardened, 
will,  with  difficulty,  be  brought  into  the  figure  we 
intend."  » 

THE   WISEST    AND    THE    BEST. 

We  have  in  religion  the  experience  of  the  wisest 
and  the  best  minds  before  us.  Their  guarantee  in  all 
else  is  of  the  very  highest  human  standing  and 
degree.  We  must,  therefore,  in  reason,  profit  by 
their  knowledge.  In  this,  also,  we  are  aided  by  our 
own  development.  Behold  the  truth  of  this  from  the 
mouth  of  Colton  :  "  Philosophy  is  a  bully  that  talks 
very  loud  when  the  danger  is  at  a  distance,  but  the 
moment  she  is  hard  pressed  by  the  enemy  she  is  not 


WORSHIP.  405 

to  be  found  at  her  post,  but  leaves  the  brunt  of  the 
battle  to  be  Borne  by  her  humbler  but  steadier  com- 
rade Religion,  whom,  on  most  other  occasions,  she 
effects  to  despise."  There  died  in  Paris,  not  long 
ago,  a  man  named  Emile  Littre,  as  well  known  in 
France  for  his  infidelity  as  is  Colonel  Ingersoll  in  this 
country.  Over  there 

THEY    CALL    ATHEISM    POSITIVISM, 

which  is  a  good  name.  It  signifies  that  a  man  is 
positive  he  knows  more  about  the  future  state  than 
God  !  Upon  his  death-bed  this  Monsieur  Littre, — 
although  he  had  been  the  means  of  sending  thousands 
of  other  souls  before  their  Maker,  rebellious  and  un. 
redeemed — this  same  Monsieur  Littre  dared  not  to 
meet  God  with  his  Positivism  on  his  soul,  and  em- 
braced the  offices  of  the  Church  with  great  relief. 
Men,  before  entering  upon  a  course  which  flings 
away  the  only  hope  a  man  has, 

SHOULD    LOOK    WELL    TO    IT 

that  they  know  what  they  are  doing.  I  wandered  in 
the  terror-stricken  streets  of  burned  Chicago.  The 
multitudes — nearly  two  hundred  thousand — were  eat- 
ing in  gratitude;  the  mothers  with  babes  were  under 


406 

shelter.  Was  the  unburned  temple  of  the  atheist 
open  ?  Oh,  no !  He  had  none.  Who  was  cutting 
the  meats  and  breaking  the  bread?  The  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  parishes  which  had  been  spared 
from  the  hot  flames.  It  was  a  solemn  lesson.  I  said: 
"  I  will  not,  Colonel  Ingersoll,  throw  away  the  hope 
1  have."  By  their  works  shall  ye  know  them !  'Tis 
as  true  upon  the  field  of  blood  as  in  the  track  of  fire, 
but  we  must  pass  on.  "  When  I  was  young,"  said 

THE    GREAT    NEWTON, 

the  ornament  of  his  race,  "  I  was  sure  of  many  things; 
there  are  only  two  things  of  which  I  am  sure  now: 
one  is  that  I  am  a  miserable  sinner;  and  the  other, 
that  Jesus  Christ  is  an  all-sufficient  savior."  The 
closing  pages  of  Dr.  Johnson's  works  are  filled  with 
simple  little  prayers  to  his  Lord  and  Savior,  Jesus 
Christ.  "  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  know  what  I 
did  not  at  one  time  believe — that  no  society  can  be 
upheld  in  happiness  and  honor  without  the  sentiment 
of  religion."  This  is  the  language  of  La  Place,  the 
author  of  "  La  Mecanique  Celeste,"  one  of  the  greatest 
books  of  the  world.  He  spoke  from  real  experience. 
He  had  seen  religion  "  abolished  by  law."  He  had 


WORSHIP.  407 

seen  the  "  worship  of  Reason  "  established  with  the 
decapitation  of  seven  thousand  innocent  citizens  of 
France.  He  had  heard  one  of  the  apostles  of  Reason 
arise  in  the  Constituent  Assembly  and  demand  two 
hundred  and  ninety  thousand  corpses  instead  of  seven 
thousand.  Then  this  man  who  had  grasped  the  machin- 
ery of  the  heavens,  who  had  shown  the  absolute  accur- 
acy of  Newton's  great  discovery,  wrote,  in  the  same 
spirit  of  absolute  knowledge :  "  I  have  lived  long  enough 
to  know  what  I  did  not  once  believe."  Magnificent 
testimony!  Almost  as  valuable  as  the  teachings  of 
our  own  hearts!  The  same  statement  comes  from 

THE    ROCK    OF    ST.  HELENA. 

Victor  Hugo,  with  a  mind  like  that  of  Shakspeare, 
says:  "  I  believe  in  the  sublimity  of  prayer."  "  If  we 
traverse  the  world,"  says  Plutarch,  "  it  is  possible  to 
find  cities  without  walls,  without  letters,  without 
Kings,  without  wealth,  without  coin,  without  schools, 
without  theatres;  but  a  city  without  a  temple,  or  that 
practiceth  not  worship,  prayers,  and  the  like,  no  one 
ever  saw."  "Wonderful !"  cries  Montesquieu,  "that 
the  Christian  religion,  which  seems  to  have  no  other 


408  WORSHIP. 

object  than  the  felicity  of   another  life,  should  also 
constitute  the  happiness  of  this !  " 

SAYS    GEORGE    WASHINGTON: 

"  Religion  is  as  necessary  to  reason  as  reason  is  to 
religion."  "Religion  is  a  necessary,  an  indispensable 
element  in  any  great  human  character,"  says  Daniel 
Webster.  "  Nothing,"  says  Gladstone,  "  can  be  hos- 
tile to  religion  which  is  agreeable  to  justice."  "It  is 
the  property  of  the  religious  spirit,"  admits  Emerson, 
"to  be  the  most  refining  of  all  influences."  The 
writers  against  religion,"  says  Edmund  Burke, 
"  whilst  they  oppose  every  system,  are  wisely  careful 
never  to  set  up  any  of  their  own."  "I  fear  God," 
says  Saadi,  "  and  next  to  God,  I  chiefly  fear  him  who 
fears  him  not."  "Space  is  the  statue  of  God,"  cries 
Joubert.  "  Truth  is  his  body  and  light  his  shadow," 
says  Plato. 

There  is  almost  a  revelation  of  God  in  the  cries 
upward  to  Himj-  of  some  of  his  human  souls.  Says 
Wordsworth  : 

Thou  who  didst  wrap  the  cloud 
Of  infancy  around  us,  that  Thyself, 
Therein  with  our  simplicity  awhile 
Mightst  hold  on  earth  communion  undisturbed; 
Who  from  the  anarchy  of  dreaming  sleep, 


WORSHIP.  409 

Or  from  its  deathlike  void,  with  punctual  care, 
And  touch  as  gentle  as  the  morning  light, 
Restor'st  us  daily — 

Thou,  Thou  alone, 
Art  everlasting! 

The  poet  Young,  driven  by  sorrow  to  God's  foot, 
stool,  addresses  his  Creator  in  the  same  nobility  of 
language : 

Thou,  who  didst  put  to  flight 
Primeval  silence,  when  the  morning  stars, 
Exulting,  shouted  o'er  the  rising  ball ; 
O  Thou  !  whose  word  from  solid  darkness  struck 
That  spark  the  sun,  strike  wisdom  from  my  soul ; 
My  soul  which  flies  to  Thee,  her  trust,  her  treasure, 
As  misers  to  their  gold,  while  others  rest. 

"  Come  unto  me,  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy- 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Therefore,  accept 
this  boon.  Take  your  own  child  by  the  hand,  and 
pray,  and  pray : 

The  way  is  long,  my  Father  !  and  my  soul 

Longs  for  the  rest  and  quiet  of  the  goal ; 
While  yet  I  journey  through  this  weary  land, 

Keep  me  from  wandering,  Father,  take  my  hand. 


Forth  from  his  dark  and  lonely  hiding-place, 
(Portentous  sight  !)    the  owlet  Atheism, 
Sailing  on  obscene  wings,  athwart  the  noon, 
Drops  his  blue-fringed  lids  and  holds  them  close, 
And  hooting  at  the  glorious  Sun  in  heaven, 
Cries  out :     "Where  is  it  ?  " — COLERIDGE. 


HE  laugh  of  the  foolish  infidel 
and    the    sneer    of    the    solemn 
atheist  are   abroad   in  the  land. 
The  awful  draught  they  hold  to 
the  lips  of  humanity  is  well  hon- 
eyed with  some  of  the  adjuncts  of  re- 
ligion itself,  else  the  perilous  cup  would 
be  rejected.     Let  us  see  how  the  atheist 
secures   his  victim,  for  he  is  never  con- 
tent to  enjoy  alone  the  extravagances  of 
his  folly.     I  have  noticed  that  when  a 
Democratic    editor   receives   dispatches 
containing   news  of   a   Republican   vic- 
tory, he  is  frequently  expert  enough  in  the  guile  per- 
taining to  his  profession  to  put  a  displayed  heading 
[410] 


THE   ATHEIST.  41 1 

on  those  same  dispatches  which  clearly  saves  the  day 
for  the  Democrats-^-or  vice  versa.  And  I  have  also 
noticed  that  it  takes  true  mental  pluck  to  rightly 
scan,  first,  that  rooster  of  roosters  (invented  during 
the  last  few  years),  then  the  ten  lines  of  Democratic 
lo  Paians  which  follow,  and  lastly,  the  small  type 
containing  the  real  facts. 

MAN    IS   SO   MUCH    LIKE    A    FISH 

that  certain  bait  is  sure  to  catch  him.  The  morning 
after-  the  election  the  most  astute  Republican  or 
Democrat  in  the  country  trembles  before  the  terrors 
of  a  ten-line  Democratic  or  Republican  displayed 
heading,  as  the  case  may  be.  Now  the  crafty  atheist 
has  a  way  of  laying  down  fallacies  which  often  ter- 
rifies one  into  involuntarily  believing  that  those  fal- 
lacies are  facts,  until  one  stops  to  think  that  the 
atheist  is  but  a  man,  after  all,  and  that  there  is  an 
appeal  from  his  findings.  It  is,  therefore,  in  the 
defense  of  humanity  that  I  advance  against  him, 

HOPING    TO    HIT    HIM    BECAUSE    HE   IS   SO    BIG, 

and  to  escape  his  blows  because  I  am  so  small.  "  What 
though  the  day  be  lost,  all  is  not  lost ! "  Though 


412  THE    ATHEIST. 

man  have  glaring  faults,  he  is  still  a  problem  far 
beyond  the  fiat  of  any  atheist.  He  still  has  a  destiny. 
The  atheist  lays  down  dogma  after  dogma.  In  this 
changing  world,  where  even  the  little  balance-wheel 
of  a  watch  must  be  "compensated,"  it  is  clearly  as 
impossible  for  any  atheist  to  lay  down  an  undevi* 
ating  dogma  as  it  was  for  the  Cretan  to  truly  say 
that  all  Cretans  were  liars!  "Broadly,  an  unselfish 
deed  is  impossible.  There  never  was  a  human 
thought  that  reached  beyond  the  human  body."  Let 
us  capture  those  two  atheistic  dogmas  and  take 
off  their  displayed  headings. 

AWAY    BACK   ON    THE    PLAINS   OF    CHALD^EA, 

in  the  youth  of  the  world,  there  lived  men  who 
watched  their  flocks  by  day  and  the  hosts  of  heaven 
by  night.  Their  study  of  the  heavens  lifted  them 
out  of  themselves,  in  my  belief,  and  their  observa- 
tions of  celestial  phenomena  led  them  to  the  discovery 
of  the  fact  that  eclipses  of  the  great  heavenly  lights 
happened  in  a  regular  rotation  of  eighteen  years  and 
ten  days.  This  discovery  has  been  very  useful  in 
purging  the  idolatry  from  eclipses — as,  had  it  not 


THE    ATHEIST.  413 

been  for  the  Chaldseans,  perhaps  the  mother  of  the 
atheist  might  have  offered  him  as  an  oblation  in 

THE   FIRST    TOTAL    ECLIPSE 

after  his  birth!  Again,  Proctor  and  Airy  have  been 
for  ten  years  mapping  stars  for  the  use  of  humanity 
25,868  years  after  the  map  is  done — that  is,  that 
period  will  furnish  the  first  opportunity  for  the  utili- 
zation of  a  truly  laborious  task.  There  is  no  glory 
in  it.  The  difference  between  glory  and  hard  work 
in  astronomy  is  just  the  difference  between  Ptolemy 
and  Hipparchus.  The  one  made  a  great  noise  in  the 
world  and  got  up  an  atheistic  solar  system  which  put 
science  back  a  thousand  years,  while  the  other  stayed 
on  his  island  and  mapped  stars  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,  rendering  possible  some  of 

THE    GODLIKE    DEDUCTIONS 

of  Kepler,  Halley,  and  Newton.  The  affairs  of  this 
world  are  managed  in  the  light  of  history.  It  is  tech- 
nically called  precedent.  There  is  yet  no  history  of 
astronomy.  In  the  desired  actual  placing  of  the 
present  positions  of  the  stars  there  would  be  a  record 
which,  25,868  years  hence,  would  enable  the  observer 
of  those  times  to  accurately  measure  movements  ©f 


4M  THE   ATHEIST. 

the  earth  now  beyond  mortal  ken  for  lack  of  history. 
By  the  character  of  those  movements,  the  force,  speed, 
heat,  and 

OTHER  QUALITIES  OF  GRAVITATION 

might  possibly  be  determined.  Now  I  cannot  connect 
the  idea  of  selfishness  with  this  view  of  the  aspirations 
of  humanity.  Proctor  and  Airy  absolutely  know 
that  they  will  be  forgotten  so  far  out  in  on-coming 
time,  but  still  they  drudge  away,  in  the  belief  that 
man  can  only  acquire  knowledge  of  God's  works  as 
the  coral  reef  attains  continental  proportions — that  is, 
by  the  infinitesimal  contributions  of  countless  unselfish 
individualities.  They  are  desirous  that  man  should 
some  day  know  the  truth.  Is  there  any  unselfishness 
in  the  aspiration? 

THE    ATHEIST 

says:  "First  and  last  of  all,  we  have  no  idea  of  any- 
thing beyond,  above,  or  superior  to  these  curious 
bodies  of  ours.  The  highest  flight  of  genius  in  art, 
religion,  or  invention  has  never  reached  beyond  the 
body  of  man."  These  statements  are  false.  They 
should  not  be  accepted  by  anybody  as  true,  for  they 
tend  to  a  lower  grade  of  existence.  They  lead  the 


THE   ATHEIST.  415 

pardoned  convict  back  to  his  hatching-house  of  crime. 
Philosophy  of  this  kind  forgets  the  "  still  small  voice." 

THE   NOBLE    "  IT    BEHOOVETH   ME!" 

rings  in  every  intelligent  mind.  "  I  have  not 
done  that  which  I  ought  to  have  done;  I  therefore 
am  disturbed  and  in  unrest."  Where  does  this  thought 
come  from?  Why  do  I  sit  in  judgment  on  myself? 
The  atheist  says  it  is  selfishness.  A  peculiar  selfish- 
ness is  that  voice  of  duty  which  cries  to  those  whom 
we  rightly  call  good  to  go  forth  to  the  bedside  of  the 
distressed,  is  it  not?  At  the  corner  of  Lake  and 
Paulina  streets,  in  Chicago,  a  man,  his  wife,  and  his 
child  were  nearly  burned  to  death.  The  child  died, 
and  perhaps  they  all  died.  They  were  taken  to  the 
hospital.  The  next  day  a  thrifty  landlord  tumbled 
their  goods  down-stairs  to  the  sidewalk. 

WHAT   WAS   IT    IN   MY    SOUL 

which,  when  I  saw  the  young  barbarians  all  at  play 
tearing  and  destroying  those  meagre  comforts,  cried 
out  so  sharply:  "O,  ignoble!  you  do  not  lift  your 
ringer  to  succor  this  poor  man!  Have  shame  upon 

you ! "  Why  is  it  that  that  voice  still  sounds  in  my 
j  j  •/ 


41 6  THE    ATHEIST. 

ears?  Surely  it  is  not  selfishness.  Listen  to  a  short 
colloquy: 

Immanuel  Kant — Duty!  wondrous  thought,  that 
workest  neither  by  fond  insinuation,  nor  flattery,  nor 
by  any  threat,  but  merely  by  holding  up  thy  naked 
law  to  the  soul,  and  so  extorting  for  thyself  always 
reverence,  if  not  obedience;  before  whom  all  appe- 
tites are  dumb,  however  secretly  they  rebel;  whence 
thy  original? 

The  Atheist — I  am  glad  to  inform  you  that  selfish- 
ness is  the  original  you  seek! 

FURTHER    FALLACIES. 

In  the  interest  of  an  advancing  Christian  humanity, 
I  call  attention  to  still  further  fallacies  as  I  hear  them 
in  the  mouth  of  atheism:  "While  we  cannot  quite 
hold  that  the  idea  expressed  by  the  modern  word 
*  selfishness '  is  new  to  mankind,  we  can  safely  say 
that  it  is  only  recently  that  selfishness  came  to  be  held 
a  very  sin.  In  the  day  of  lance,  and  fort,  and  mailed 
right  hand,  the  Knight  took  what  he  could,  and  held 
what  he  could,  and  there  were  no  mealy-mouthed 
words  about  the  rights  of  others.,  and  a  broad  Chris- 


THE    ATHEIST.  417 

tian  charity,  either.  To-day,  all  of  society  has  the 
precise  motive  of  the  old  Robber-Barons." 

LET    US   LOOK   DOWN    BROADWAY 

some  Saturday  forenoon.  Myriads  of  vehicles  con- 
fuse the  common  mind  with  their  din  and  their 
movement.  A  horse  comes  along,  walking  on  a  hoof 
that  is  no  longer  a  hoof.  What  stops  every  team 
within  two  blocks  for  twenty  minutes?  Why,  an 
officer  has  rushed  into  that  torrent  of  traffic,  has. 
grasped  that  poor  beast  by  the  bridle,  and  has  sent  g 
bullet  on  a  mission  of  mercy  through  its  brain.  Ho\» 
is  it  that  the  frightful  objurgations  of  the  high-chan 
ioted  host  fall  so  lightly  on  that  officer?  Why  does 
he  not  get  killed  himself?  Because  he  is  in  the 
second  largest  aggregation  of  human  beings  in  the 
world,  where  the  voice  of  religion  is  strongest,  and 
where  that  voice  cries  in  unmistakable  tones, 
"WELL  DONE!" 

It  could  not  be  done  in  Leadville!  It  could  not  be 
done  even  in  Chicago !  Not  enough  religious  educa- 
tion; not  enough  development;  not  enough  of  the 
voice  of  duty !  Let  not  the  atheist  say  that  there  is 

a  child  in  the  back  alley  dying.     So  there  is,  but 

27  / 


41 8  THE    ATHEIST. 

society  will  get  there  in  time.  Let  not  the  atheist 
criticise  society;  it  is  too  big  an  affair.  Inside  of  a 
thousand  years  it  will  be  a  necessity  of  society  as  well 
as  it  now  is  of  religion,  to  be  kind  to  humanity  as  well 
as  to  the  brute  creation.  Society  will  then  attend  to  it. 
When  a  victim  fell  before  Achilles  or  Diomedes,  that 
victim  begged  for  mercy.  The  spear  then  went 
through  his  bowels.  The  times  demanded  it.  They 
knew  no  mercy.  There  is  no  mercy  in  the  Iliad. 
The  Barons,  also,  were  a  crowd  of  thugs.  To-day, 
in  New  York,  or  London,  or  Paris,  they  would  each 
get  twenty  years  on  general  principles.  We  have  no 
sluggers  who  are  not  their  superiors.  The  atheist 
should  know  it,  and  does.  The  world  moves. 

THERE    MUST    BE  THOUGHTS 

which  reach  beyond  the  human  body.  I  remember 
well  a  day  of  serious  mental  depression  which  I  once 
suffered.  But  out  of  my  sadness  came  peace.  Points 
in  our  memory  lose  their  coloring  rapidly,  of  course, 
yet  the  feelings  of  that  day  and  night  still  cause  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  in  my  mind.  I  had  been  for  days 
convinced  that  there  were  no  real  joys  in  life.  As  my 
peace  came,  I  began  laboriously  to  pick  out  some 


THE   ATHEIST.  419 

choids  on  a  piano  from  the  opera  of  "Lucretia  Bor- 
gia"— the  finale  of  the  second  act.  My  labor  was 
rewarded  by  the  most  pleasing  sounds  I  had  ever 
made  with  my  own  fingers,  and  there  was  a  general 
ebullition  of  pleasure  and  expectation  of  future  har- 
monies through  my  whole  body  for  many  hours  after- 
ward. That  night  I  went  to  hear  a  great  scientist 
lecture  on  astronomy. 

THE    SUBLIMITY    OF    HIS    SUBJECT, 

the  idea  of  a  universe  of  stars  as  yet  unbounded,  the 
higher  idea  of  an  infinitude  of  such  universes,  each 
but  a  handful  of  mist  in  the  greatest  telescope,  raised 
me  to  a  point  of  feeling  which  made  life  an  ineffable 
delight.  I  went  to  my  bed,  and  thanked  a  Creator 
out  of  a  boundless  thankfulness.  I  have  thought  that 
the  twenty-third  Psalm  (beginning,  "  The  Lord  is  my 
shepherd)  "  is  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  inspired  with 
the  same  high  quality  of  satisfaction.  Surely, 

MAN   IS   NOT    THE   VICIOUS   LUMP    OF    CLAY 

which  the  atheist  would  have  him  when  he  is  able  to 
command  that  picture  of  Faith  which  Wordsworth 
wrote: 

I  have  seen 

A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 


420  THE    ATHEIST. 

The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell ; 

To  which  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 

Listened  intensely,  and  his  countenance  soon 

Brightened  with  joy, — for  murmurings  from  within 

Were  heard,  sonorous  cadences  !  whereby, 

To  his  belief  the  monitor  expressed 

Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 

Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself  j- 

Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith  ;  and  there  are  times 

I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 

Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things. 

.  No!  No!  To  found  the  problem  or  the  actions 
of  man  on  any  one  agent,  and  to  cut  him  off  from 
God,  is  peurile!  The  reason  of  man  necessitated  the 
discovery  of  gravitation,  and1  it  is  to-day  the  best- 
established  physical  fact  before  our  view.  The  reason 
of  man  also  demands  a  Creator,  to  endow  us  witli 
motives  above  our  own  development,  and  that  reason, 
in  the  soul  of  every  man,  atheist  and  Christian  alike, 
must  and  will,  secretly  or  openly,  have  divine  satis- 
faction. 

The  atheist,  in  these  days,  is  the  champion  and  the 
leader  of  a  scrubby  lot  of  social  and  religious  ideas. 
He  should  not  "  march  them  through  Coventry  that's 
flat." 


Those  holy  fields 

Over  whose  acres  walked  those  blessed  feet 
Which,  fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nailed 
For  our  advantage  on  the  bitter  cross. — SHAKSPEARE. 

OUR  little  child,  on  Christmas  day,  may 
give  you  a  beautiful  copy  of  the  history 
of  "those  holy  fields."  But  a  few  hund- 
red years  ago,  it  might  have  cost  a  throne. 
I  To-day  we  may  have  either  Testament 
printed  in  our  daily  newspaper  and  put 
upon  our  table  before  breakfast,  So 
free  is  the  word  of  God  that  only  the 
mere  wish  to  have  it  is  necessary  to  secure  at  once 
the  greatest  of  spiritual  boons  and  the  most  perfect 
piece  of  writing  in  our  language,  or  in  any  other 
tongue.  The  beauties  of  the  Bible  have  charmed 
the  critical  of  all  ages.  The  young  have  departed 
from  its  simplicity  of  speech  only  to  return  in  riper 
years  for  rapt  tuition.  The  wise  have  lingered  over 
its  perfect  sentences,  striving  to  catch  the  art  which 
was  showered  upon  those  unassuming  translators 

who  gave  its  pages  to  the  English-speaking  world. 

(421) 


422  THE    BIBLE. 

One  of  the  brightest  wits  of  his  time  was  Sidney 
Smith.  His  love  of  the  Bible,  not  only  as  his  guide 
and  his  strength,  but  as  the  greatest  of  all  literary 
works,  was  passionate.  He  once  impressed  a  circle 
of  friends  very  deeply  with  this  noble  veneration : 
"  What,"  said  he,  "is  so  beautiful  as 

THE    STYLE    OF    THE    BIBLE  ? 

what  poetry  in  its  language  and  ideas ! "  and  taking 
it  down  from  the  book-case  he  read,  with  his  clear, 
manly  voice,  and  in  his  most  affecting  manner,  several 
of  his  favorite  p'assages ;  among  others :  "  Thou 
shalt  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head,  and  honor  the 
face  of  an  old  man  ;  "  and  part  of  that  most  beauti- 
ful of  Psalms,  the  i3Qth:  "O  Lord,  thou  hast 
searched  me,  and  known  me.  Thou  knowest  my 
downsitting  and  mine  uprising ;  thou  understandest 
my  thoughts  afar  off.  Thou  compassest  my  path 
and  my  lying  down,  and  art  acquainted  with  all  my 
ways.  Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  spirit,  or  whither 
shall  I  flee  from  thy  presence  ?  If  I  ascend  up  into 
heaven,  thou  art  there  ;  if  I  make  my  bed  in  hell, 
behold  thou  art  there ;  if  I  take  the  wings  of  the 
morning,  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea ; 


THE    BIBLE.  423 

even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me  and  thy  right  hand 
shall  hold  me.  If  I  say,  Surely  the  darkness  shall 
cover  me,  even  the  night  shall  be  light  about  me  ;  yea, 
the  darkness  hideth  not  from  thee  ;  but  the  night 
shineth  as  the  day ;  the  darkness  and  the  light  are 
both  alike  unto  thee."  And  thus  he  would  charm 
his  hearers,  visiting  their  ears,  perhaps,  with  the 
first  true  knowledge  of  Biblical  beauty  which  Jiad 
ever  sounded  upon  them.  Listen  to 

THE    MERITED    EULOGY 

of  a  Roman  Catholic,  in  the  Dublin  Review,  of 
June,  1853:  "Who  will  say  that  the  uncommon 
beauty  and  marvelous  English  of  the  Protestant 
Bible  is  not  one  of  the  strongholds  of  heresy  in  this 
country?  It  lives  on  the  ear  like  music  that  .can 
never  be  forgotten,  like  the  sound  of  church-bells, 
which  the  convert  hardly  knows  how  he  can  forego. 
Its  felicities  often  seem  to  be  things  rather  than  mere 
words.  It  is  part  of  the  national  mind,  and  the 
anchor  of  national  seriousness.  Nay,  it  is  worshiped 
with,  a  positive  idolatry,  in  extenuation  of  whose 
gross  fanaticism  its  intrinsic  beauty  pleads  availingly 
with  the  man  of  letters  and  the  scholar.  The  mem- 


424  THE    BIBLE. 

ory  of  the  dead  passes  into  it.  The  potent  tra- 
ditions of  childhood  are  ' 

STEREOTYPED    IN     ITS     PHRASES. 

The  power  of  all  the  griefs  and  trials  of  a  man  is 
hidden  beneath  the  words.  It  is  the  representative 
of  his  best  moments ;  and  all  that  there  has  been 
about  him  of  soft,  and  gentle,  and  pure,  and  peni- 
-  tent,  and  good,  speaks  to  him  forever  out  of  his 
English  Bible.  It  is  his  sacred  thing,  which  doubt 
has  never  dimmed,  and  controversy  never  soiled.  It 
has  been  to  him  all  along  as  the  silent,  but  oh ! 
how  intelligible  voice  of  his  guardian  angel ;  and 
in  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  there  is  not  a 
Protestant  with  one  spark  of  religiousness  about 
him  whose  spiritual  biography  is  not  in  his  Saxon 
Bible." 

WHAT    A    PANEGYRIC 

from  an  avowed  opponent  of  this  translation  !  And 
to  whom  are  we  principally  indebted  for  this  lovely 
poem  of  God  ?  To  William  Tyndale.  Says  Froude, 
the  historian  :  "  The  peculiar  genius,  if  such  a  word 
may  be  permitted,  which  breathes  through  the  Bible, 
the  mingled  tenderness  and  majesty,  the  Saxon 


THE   BIBLE.  425 

simplicity,  the  preternatural  grandeui  unequaled, 
unapproached,  in  the  attempted  improvements  of 
modern  scholars — all  are  here,  and  bear  the  impress 
of  one  man,  and  that  man  William  Tyndale." 

AND    WHO    WAS   WILLIAM    TYNDALE  ? 

He  was  a  gentle  clergyman  of  great  piety  and  learn- 
ing. He  was  born  in  Gloucestershire,  England,  in 
1477.  He  endured  great  persecution  and  was  forced 
to  quit  England.  He  visited  Luther  in  Germany. 
He  printed  his  New  Testament  at  Antwerp.  Its 

* 

beauties  were  at  once  recognized  in  England,  al- 
though to  read  it  was  illegal  and  punishable  with 
death.  Cardinal  Wolsely  did  his  best  to  entice 
the  translator  to  England,  to  destroy  him.  An 
assistant  in  the  work,  named  John  Frith,  was  lured 
back  and  burned  to  death.  Finally  Henry  the  Eighth 
of  England  procured  Tyndale's  arrest  at  Antwerp. 
He  was  given  a  "  trial,"  at  Vilvoorden,  near  Antwerp, 
and  pronounced  guilty.  In  September,  1536, 

THEY    STRANGLED    THIS    INSPIRED    SERVANT 

of  God,  and  then  burned  his  body.  At  the  stake 
he  cried :  "  Lord,  open  the  King  of  England's 
eyes ! "  Upon  Tyndale's  version  of  the  Bible  the 


426  THE  BIBLE. 

King  James  translation  is  solidly  based.  "It  is 
astonishing,"  says  Dr.  Geddes,  a  profound  scholar, 
"  how  little  obsolete  the  language  of  it  is,  even  at 
this  day ;  and,  in  point  of  perspicuity  and  noble 
simplicity,  propriety  of  idiom,  and  purity  of  style, 
no  English  version  has  yet  surpassed  it."  Of  course 
our  language  has  changed  greatly  in  400  years.  Yet 

THE    LORD'S    PRAYER 

does  not  contain,  in  Tyndale's  exact  language,  one 
unrecognizable  word.  It  ran  as  follows:  "Oure 
Father  which  arte  in  heven,  halowed  be  thy  name. 
Let  thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  wyll  be  fulfilled,  as  well 
in  erth,  as  hit  ys  in  heven.  Geve  vs  this  daye  oure 
dayly  breade.  And  forgeve  vs  oure  treaspases,  even 
as  we  forgeve  them  which  treaspas  vs.  Leede  vs  not 
into  temptacion,  but  delyvre  vs  from  yvell.  Amen." 

THE    MARKED    POETICAL  SUPERIORITY 

of  the  Protestant  over  the  Catholic  Bible  may  be 
shown  in  the  twenty-third  Psalm,  and  elsewhere. 
The  first  says  :  "  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;  I  shall 
not  want ; "  the  second  :  "  The  Lord  ruleth  me  ;  and 
I  shall  want  nothing."  The  first  says:  "He 
maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures  ;  he  leadeth 


THE    BIBLE.  427 

me  beside  the  still  waters  ;  he  restoreth  my  soul ; " 
the  second  :  "  He  hath  set  me  in  a  place  of  pasture  ; 
he  hath  brought  me  up  on  the  water  of  refreshment ; 
he  hath  converted  my  soul"  (thus  completely  losing 
the  original  metaphor  of  the  shepherd).  The  first 
says :  "  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ; "  the  second : 
"  For  though  I  should  walk  in  the  midst  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evils."  In  Job  v.  7, 
the  first  says  :  "  Yet  man  is  born  unto  trouble,  as 
the  sparks  fly  upward  ; "  the  second  :  "  Man  is  born 
to  labor,  and  the  bird  to  fly."  In  Job  xiv.  i,  the 
first  says  :  "  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few 
days,  and  full  of  trouble  ; "  the  second  :  "  Man  born 
of  a  woman,  living  for  a  short  time,  is  filled  with 
many  miseries.  "  These  examples  will  suffice  to 
show  the  differences  which  pervade  the  two  transla- 
tions. 

"  INTENSE    STUDY    OF   THE  BIBLE 

will  keep  any  one  from  being  vulgar  in  point  of 
style,"  says  Coleridge.  "There  are  no  songs,"  says 
Milton,  "comparable  to  the  songs  of  Zion,  no 
orations  equal  to  those  of  the  prophets,  and  no 


THE   BIBLE. 

politics  like  those  which  the  scriptures  teach."  "The 
pure  and  noble,  the  graceful  and  dignified  simplicity 
of  language,"  says  Pope,  "is  nowhere  in  such  perfec- 
tion as  in  the  Scriptures.  The  whole  book  of  Job, 
with  regard  both  to  sublimity  of  thought  and  moral- 
ity, exceeds,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most  noble 
parts  of  Homer."  "  I  use  the  Scriptures,"  says  Boyle, 
"  not  as  an  arsenal  to  be  resorted  to  only  for  arms  and 
weapons,  but  as 

A    MATCHLESS    TEMPLE, 

where  I  delight  to  contemplate  the  beauty,  the  sym- 
metry, and  the  magnificence  of  the  structure,  and  to 
increase  my  awe  and  excite  my  devotion  to  the 
Deity  there  preached  and  adored."  "There  never 
was  found,  in  any  age  of  the  world,"  says  Bacon, 
"  either  religion  or  law  that  did  so  highly  exalt  the 
public  good  as  the  Bible."  "It  is  the  window  in  this 
prison  of  hope,"  says  Dwight,  "through  which  we 
look  into  eternity."  "  How  admirable  and  beautiful," 
says  Racine,  "is  the  simplicity  of  the  Evangelists! 
They  never  speak  injuriously  of  the  enemies  of  Jesus 
Christ,  of  his  judges,  nor  of  his  executioners.  They 
speak  the  facts  without  a  single  reflection.  They 


THE    BIBLE.  429 

comment  neither  on  their  Master's  mildness,  nor  on 
his  constancy  in  the  hour  of  his  ignominious  death, 
which  they  thus  describe :  ( And  they  crucified  Jesus.' " 
"  Men  cannot  be  well  educated  without  the  Bible," 
says  Dr.  Nott.  "  It  ought,  therefore,  to  hold  a  chief 
place  in  every  situation  of  learning  throughout  Chris- 
tendom." "  I  am  of  the  opinion,"  says  Sir  William 
Jones,  "  that  the  Bible  contains  more  true  sublimity, 
more  exquisite  beauty,  more  pure  morality,  more 
important  history,  and  finer  strains  of  poetry  and 
eloquence,  than  can  be  collected  from  all  other  books, 
in  whatever  age  or  language  they  have  been  written." 
"  I  will  answer  for  it,"  says  Romaine, 

"THE  LONGER  YOU  READ  THE  BIBLE 
the  more  you  will  like  it;  it  will  grow  sweeter  and 
sweeter;  and  the  more  you  get  into  the  spirit  of  it, 
the  more  you  will  get  into  the  spirit  of  Christ."  "  The 
greatest  pleasures  the  imagination  can  be  entertained 
with,"  says  Sir  Richard  Steele,  "  are  to  be  found  in 
the  Bible;  and  even  the  style  of  the  Scriptures  is 
more  than  human." 

THE    BIBLE   IS    AUTHENTIC. 

It  is  old.     It  is  beautiful.     It  is  the  only  hope  we 


430  THE    BIBLE. 

have.  If  we  cast  it  away  we  become  as  the  brutes 
of  the  field,  both  in  spirit  and  in  body.  The  strong 
take  from  the  weak  and  perish  into  nothing — this  is 
all  that  is  offered  us  by  those  who  reject  and  revile 
the  Bible.  Such  have  exceeding  deep  ignorance, 
exceeding  ill  manners,  exceeding  bad  taste,  and  ex- 
ceeding great  folly.  "  I  find  more  sure  marks  of  the 
authenticity  of  the  Bible,"  says  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
"  than  in  any  profane  history  whatever."  We  use  the 
word  "secular"  nowadays  where  "profane"  was 
formerly  written.  "  Profane  "  meant  "  before  "  or 
"outside  "  the  "fane,"  or  "temple." 

THE    BOOK   OF   JOB 

is  older  than  any  other  writing  on  earth.  It  ante- 
dates the  Chinese  Empire.  It  is  lost  in  the  mist  of 
years.  The  histories  of  Moses  are  as  old  as  the 
pyramids,  and  the  pyramids  and  obelisks  proclaim 
the  integrity  of  the  Hebrew  leader  and  chronicler. 
So  let  us  prize  this  greatest  gift  of  God  to  man.  Let 
us  humbly  thank  Him  for  the  liberties  and  comforts  it 
has  brought  us — for  even  the  Atheist  himself  refrains 
from  robbing  us  of  our  property  through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Christian  religion.  Let  us  thank  God  for 


THE    BIBLE.  431 

the  schools,  and  the  hospitals,  and  the  charities  which 
have 

THE    BIBLE    AT    THEIR   FOUNDATION, 

and  which,  without  it,  it  is  fair  to  say,  would  not  be 
in  existence  to-day.  Those  who  are  the  best  are 
guided  by  its  precepts.  Those  who  are  the  wisest 
have  implicit  confidence  in  it.  Those  who  are  the 
most  eloquent  have  studied  it  intensely.  Those  who 
are  powerful  in  narration  of  events  have  imitated  its 
divine  simplicity.  Have  it  at  your  bedside.  Your 
mind  will  broaden  faster  under  its  influence  than 
under  that  of  the  daily  newspaper.  If  you  have  not 
time  to  read  both,  sacrifice  the  paper.  The  paper  is 
trash.  The  Bible  is  solid  gold.  If  you  fill  your 
mind  with  grand  thoughts,  your  mind  will  be  noble. 
You  will  have  principle. 

WHERE    CAN   YOU    FIND    AS  GRAND    LANGUAGE 

in  any  politician's  speech? — "The  voice  of  the  Lord 
is  upon  the  waters ;  the  God  of  glory  thundereth ;  deep 
calleth  unto  deep;  the  voice  of  the  Lord  shaketh  the 
wilderness."  Where  can  you  find  as  graceful  speech? 
— "He  shall  come  down  as  rain  upon  the  mown 
grass;  mercy  and  truth  are  met  together;  righteous- 


432 


THE    BIBLE. 


ness  and  peace  have  kissed  each  other."  The  day 
is  now  dawning  in  this  Western  world  when  taste 
and  poetic  feeling  are  to  flourish.  We  have  got  the 
dollars.  We  must  now  get  something  for  the  dol- 
lars. Now  will  the  Bible,  as  ever  at  such  epochs 
in  the  past,  shine  out  anew,  the  criterion,  not  only  of 
the  soul,  but  of  the  sentiments — the  book  that  is  first 
"  ;he  scholar's  lamp  and  alone  in  his  bedchamber. 


Thy  thoughts  and  feelings  shall  not  die, 
Nor  leave  thee  when  gray  hairs  are  nigh 

A  melancholy  slave  ; 

But  an  old  age  serene  and  bright, 

And  lovely  as  a  Lapland  night, 
Shall  lead  thee  to  thy  grave. — WORDSWORTH. 

GE  is  the  outer  shore  against  which 
dashes  an  eternity.  The  mysterious 
ocean  is  either  tempestuous  or  tran- 
'quil,  just  as  we  view  it.  If  we  look 
hard  down  the  cliff  of  death  we  are 
appalled  with  the  force  of  the  waves  ; 
we  are  frightened  by  the  din  and 
shock  of  collision.  But  if  we  gaze 
afar  off  we  see  no  great  disturbance.  All  is  moving 
with  the  true  poetry  of  motion,  in  the  fitness  of  God's 
plan,  even  as  viewed  by  one  of  His  works.  "The 
more  we  sink  into  the  infirmities  of  age,"  says  Jeremy 
Collier,  "  the  nearer  we  are. to  immortal  youth.  All 
people  are  young  in  the  other  world.  That  state  is 
an  eternal  spring,  ever  fresh  and  flourishing.  Now, 
to  pass  from  midnight  into  noon  on  the  sudden  ;  to 

28  (433) 


434  THE    EVENING  OF    LIFE. 

be  decrepit  one  minute  and  all  spirit  and  activity 
the  next,  must  be  a  desirable  change.  To  call  this 
dying  is  an  abuse  of  language."  Death  to  the  aged 
is  natural,  therefore  as  pleasant  and  easy  as  any 
other  natural  office  of  the  body.  Indeed,  it  is  far 
easier  than  the  operation  by  which  we  even  get  GUI' 
teeth  in  youth.  If  we,  then,  are  able  to  forget  that 
greatest  shock  of  pain  so  quickly  as  we  do,  why 
shall  we  dread  a  little  sinking  of  the  breath,  and  the 
inwilling  battle  of  a  body  that  is  tired  and 

LITERALLY    WILLING    AT    HEART 

to  surrender?  "In  expectation  of  a  better,  I  can 
with  patience  embrace  this  life,"  says  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  "yet  in  my  best  meditations  do  I  often 
desire  death.  For  a  pagan  there  may  be  some 
motive  to  be  in  love  with  life ;  but  for  a  Christian 
to  be  amazed  at  death,  I  see  not  how  he  can  escape 
this  dilemma — that  he  is  too  sensible  of  this  life,  or 
hopeless  of  the  life  to  come."  We  are  now  of  the 
earth  ;  but  all  the  high  reason  which  has  taught  us 
to  master  fire,  and  water,  and  the  thunderbolts  them- 


THE  EVENING  OF   LIFE 


THE  EVENING   OF  LIFE.  435 

selves,  has  also  instructed  us  that  we  are  only  sojour- 
ners  on  this  little  planet. 

OUR    MINDS    ARE    AS    BROAD 

as  the  range  of  stellar  systems.  We  are  not  as  large 
as  a  horse  or  an  elephant.  Are  we,  therefore,  in- 
ferior ?  We  are  inhabiting  bodies  which  thrive  but 
a  few  years,  on  a  planet  remarkable  for  its  smallness- 
But  we  stretch  our  knowledge  over  mighty  distances ; 
we  construct  triangles  which  have  for  one  side  the 
whole  sweep  of  the  earth,  over  1 80  millions  of  miles  ; 
we  measure  the  distance  of  other  worlds  by  this  side 
of  a  triangle,  and  the  nearest  star  is  thus  found  to 
be  103,000  of  our  measures  away  from  us — 103,000 
times  1 80,000,000  miles  !  Young  has  well  said  that 

THE    UNDEVOUT    ASTRONOMER    IS    MAD. 

So  did  Napoleon  die.  Was  he  not  the  mightiest 
man  of  his  time  ?  Did  not  the  whole  world  sigh 
with  relief  when  the  final  end  came  ?  Yet  he  was 
on  a  tiny  rock  in  the  great  ocean  ?  On  a  map  of 
the  world  that  rock  has  no  title  even  to  a  dot.  Yet 
it  would  be  foolish  to  say  he  belonged  simply  to  that 


436  THE    EVENING   OF    LIFE. 

rock.  No.  He  had  come  from  other  human  worlds. 
He  was  as  broad  as  the  earth.  We,  too,  have  come 
from  other  worlds.  We  are  as  broad  as  the  universe. 
Even  our  minds,  clad  in  clay,  betray  the  high  char- 
acter of  our  souls. 

i 

DOES  THE  BEAST  PEER  INTO  THE  STARS  ? 

Do  the  birds  that  pass  so  easily  into  the  air  go  on 
voyages  of  discovery  past  Sirius  ?  And  yet  the  air 
refuses  to  bear  us,  and  wafts  them  gently  on  its 
lightest  zephyrs !  We  have  sublime  faculties — the 
fit  companions  of  a  soul.  It  is  not  our  self-conceit. 
The  Milky  Way  is  not  our  conceit.  The  eclipses 
are  not  our  conceit.  The  awful  sweep  of  our  whole 
family  of  planets,  moons,  and  sun,  onward  in  celes- 
tial space,  is  not  a  conceit.  Therefore  we  possess 
our  souls,  flashing  within  caskets  which  have  not 
been  altogether  unworthy  of  their  priceless  treasures. 

AS    THE    CASKET    DULLS 

and  grows  to  its  decay,  we  cannot  weep  greatly  over 

its  loss,  for  will  it  not  reveal  the  splendors  all  within  ? 

"  It  is  worthy  the  observing,"   says  Lord  Bacon, 


THE    EVENING   OF    LIFE.  437 

-wisest  of  men,"  "that  there  is  no  passion  in  the 
mind  of  men  so  weak,  but  it  mates  and  masters  the 
fear  of  death ;  and,  therefore,  death  is  no  such 
terrible  enemy  when  a  man  hath  so  many  attendants 
about  him  that  can  win  the  combat  from  him.  Re- 
venge triumphs  over  death ;  love  slights  it ;  honor 
aspireth  to  it ;  grief  flieth  to  it ;  fear  pre-occupateth 
it ;  nay,  we  read,  after  Otho  the  Emperor  had  slain 
himself, 

PITY  (WHICH  IS  THE  TENDEREST  OF  AFFECTIONS) 

provoked  many  to  die  out  of  mere  compassion  to 
their  sovereign,  and  as  the  truest  sort  of  followers. 
A  man  would  die,  though  he  were  neither  valiant 
nor  miserable,  only  upon  a  weariness  to  do  the  same 
thing  so  oft  over  and  over  again."  We  all  must  die, 
sooner  or  later.  It  is  easier  to  die  than  to  live  again 
our  stormy  and  tempestuous  lives.  Few  would  re- 
embark  at  the  cradle,  suffer  the  pains  of  childhood, 
the  hurts  which  the  feelings  of  youth  get,  the  pangs 
of  love,  the  shock  of  loneliness  coming  from  the 
departure  of  those  we  cling  to,  the  vicissitudes  of 
fortune,  the  stings  of  penury,  the  journeys  into  the 
lands  of  strangers,  the  flight  of  summer  friends, 


438  THE   EVENING  OF    LIFE. 

the  alienation  of  children,  and  the  fevers  and  the 

• 
wounds  which  human  nature  crosses  on  its  way  to 

the  kind  haven  of  a  good  old  age.  Jesus  stands 
near.  When  death  comes,  his  voice  will  sound,  just 
at  the  brink:  "  It  is  I  ;  be  not  afraid."  "  When  I 
look  at  the  tombs  of  the  great,"  said  Joseph  Ad- 
dison,  on 

HIS   VISIT    TO    WESTMINSTER    ABBEY, 

"every  motion  of  envy  dies  in  me ;  when  I  read  the 
epitaphs  of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire 
goes  out ;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  parents 
upon  a  tombstone,  my  heart  melts  with  compassion  ; 
when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  themselves,  I 
consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we 
must  quickly  follow.  When  I  see  Kings  lying  by 
those  who  deposed  them,  when  I  consider  rival  wits 
placed  side  by  side,  or  the  holy  men  that  divided  the 
world  with  their  contests  and  disputes,  I  reflect  with 
sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the  little  competitions, 
factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  When  I  read  the 
several  dates  of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died  yes- 
terday, and  some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider 


THE  EVENING   OF  LIFE.  439 

that  great  judgment  day  when  we  shall  all  of  us  be 
contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance  together." 

THE    AGED    MAN 

who  has  "walked  with  God  "  is  always  ready  for  the 
Master's  call.  His  loins  are  girded  about  and  his 
lights  burning.  He  "  lies  down  with  the  Kings  of 
the  earth,"  and  that  leveling  process  which  is  thus 
intimated  and  begun  in  death  he  feels  is  the  order 
of  a  higher  plane  of  life  to  come,  when  all  the 
abuses  and  incongruities  of  human  government  will 
be  swept  away,  and  the  light  of  omniscient  wisdom 
will  shine  on  all  alike.  There  will  he  meet  the  little 
child  who  strayed  from  the  fold  into  the  snows  of 
death  early  in  the  married  life,  and  there  will  he  sit 
beside  that  fond  old  heart  who  heard  his  first  piteous 
wail  in  this  cold  world,  and  nestled  him  to  her  bosom 
all  warm  with  a  mother's  love. 

IT    IS   THE    ONE    POSSIBLE    CHANCE 

of  happiness,  and  only  death  stands  in  the  way. 
Nature  carries  the  soul  gently  over  the  river,  where 
those  who  have  gone  before  stand  waiting  in  glad 
expectation.  Shall  we  doubt  either  the  goodness 


440  THE   EVENING   OF   LIFE. 

of  God  or  the  perfection  of  nature  ?  Shall  we  hesi- 
tate to  weave  the  silk  of  death  around  our  bodies 
when  we  know  that  we  may  thence  issue  a  being 
worthy  of  a  celestial  sphere  of  action  ? 

APOSTROPHE. 

Venerable  sir,  thou  hast  borne  the  burdens  of  the 
world  to  the  last  mile-post.  Thy  companions  have 
fallen  by  the  wayside,  and  even  some  of  them  may 
have  gone  unbidden  to  their  Judge.  But  thou, 
having  in  view  the  dignity  of  the  human  mind  and 
the  will  of  God,  hast  labored  while  the  light  was 
given  thee,  and  hast  journeyed  while  thy  strength 
remained.  Thy  destiny  is  now  but  opening  to  thy 
sight.  Thou  lookest  through  the  inner  doors  and 
seest  that  infinite  cathedral  which  openeth  beyond 
the  vestibule  of  death. 

' '  The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 
But  thou  shalt  nourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crush  of  worlds." 


Whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 

This  longing  after  immortality  ? 

Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 

Of  falling  into  naught?     Why  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 

'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  ; 

'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 

Eternity  !  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought !— ADDISON. 


SK  and  it  shall  be  given  you  ; 
seek  and  ye   shall    find ;  knock 
and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you." 
So    spake    the     Savior.     "  We 
know,"  says  Paul,  "  that  all  things 
;work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God.     In  a  moment, 
in  the  twinkling  of   an    eye,  at  the  last 
trump  ;  for  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and 
the  dead  shall  be    raised    incorruptible, 
and  we  shall  be  changed.     So  when  this 
corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption, 

and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then 

(441) 


442  THE   FUTURE   LIFE.  * 

shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written, 
Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  O  death,  where 
is  my  sting  ?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  For 
I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered,  and  the  time  of  my 
departure  is  at  hand.  I  have  fought  a  good  fight, 
I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith  : 
henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me 

A    CROWN    OF    RIGHTEOUSNESS, 

which  the  Lord,  the  righteous  judge,  shall  give  me 
at  that  day ;  and  not  to  me  only,  but  unto  all  them 
also  that  love  his  appearing."  "These  things  saith 
He  that  holdeth  the  Seven  Stars  in  his  right  hand: 
Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a 
crown  of  life."  These  are  a  few  of  the  bright  pro- 
mises held  out  to  us  in  the  Book  of  Life.  Are  we 
not  blest?  "The  joys  of  heaven,"  says  Bishop 
Norns,  "  are  without  example,  above  experience, 
and  beyond  imagination,  for  which  the  whole  crea- 
tion wants  a  comparison;  we  an  apprehension  ;  and 
even  the  Word  of  God  a  revelation."  "Heaven," 
says  Shakspeare,  "is  the  treasury  of  everlasting 
joy."  "  By  heaven  we  understand  a  state  of  happi- 


THE    FUTURE    LIFE."  443 

ness,"  says  Franklin,  "  infinite  in  degree,  and  endless 
in  duration."  With  man's  finite  mind  man  solaces 
himself  with 

PICTURES    OF    PARADISE 

mortal  in  their  scope.  He  is  not  to  be  blamed  for 
this,  for  it  is  God's  will  to  let  him  grope  in  darkness 
a  few  short  years.  But  man's  imagination  in  all 
earthly  things  conjures  up  that  which  is  far  beyond 
the  earthly  reality,  leaving  him  a  prey  to  dissatis- 
faction. How  good  to  believe  that  our  imagination 
finds  in  heaven  a  field  where  all  our  most  beautiful 
ideas,  collated,  joined  and  woven  together  into  a 
whole,  fail  to  approach  the  true  glories  of  the  home 
in  the  far  skies  which  our  kind  Father,  taking  us  in 
His  arms,  will  open  before  us.  "  How  should  we 
rejoice,"  says  Sir  Robert  Hall,  "  in  the  prospect, 

THE    CERTAINTY,*   RATHER, 

of  spending  a  blissful  eternity  with  those  whom  we 
loved  on  earth ;  of  seeing  them  emerge  from  the 
ruins  of  the  tomb  and  the  deeper  ruins  of  the  fall, 
not  only  uninjured,  but  refined  and  perfected,  'with 


444  THE   FUTURE  LIFE. 

every  tear  wiped  from  their  eyes/  standing  before 
the  throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb,  '  in  white  robes 
and  palms  in  their  hands,  crying  with  a  loud  voice, 
Salvation  to  God  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and 
to  the  Lamb,  for  ever  and  ever ! ' 

WHAT     DELIGHT    WILL    IT    AFFORD 

to  renew  the  sweet  counsel  we  have  taken  together, 
to  recount  the  toils  of  combat  and  the  labor  of  the 
way,  and  to  approach,  not  the  house,  but  the  throne 
of  God  in  company,  in  order  to  join  in  the  sympho- 
nies of  heavenly  voices,  and  lose  ourselves  amid  the 
splendor  and  fruition  of  the  beatific  vision  ! "  Dr. 
Dick  supposes  that  the  soul  may  find  endless  em- 
ployment in  beholding  "  those  magnificent  displays 
which  will  be  exhibited  of  the  extent,  the  magnitude, 
the  motions,  the  mechanism,  the  scenery,  the  inhab- 
itants, and  the  general  constitution  of  other  systems, 
and  the  general  arrangement  and  order  of  the  uni- 
versal system  comprehended  under  the  government 
of  the  Almighty." 

THIS    IS    ENTIRELY     IN     REASON. 

So  far  as  we  are  able  to  judge,  there  is  abso- 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE.  445 

lutely  no  limit  to  the  universe  of  stars.  We  are  as 
sure  of  the  law  of  gravity  as  we  are  of  the  existence 
of  heaven.  We  build  larger  telescopes  each  year 
only  to  behold  additional  millions  of  stars,  each 
star,  possibly,  the  larger  on  account  of  our  being 
able  to  see  it  at  all.  We  absolutely  know  that  one 
star  is  larger  than  our  sun  by  324  times.  The  moon 
is  about  nine  times  around  the  earth  away  from  us. 
The  sun  is  larger  than  the  track  of  the  moon  around 
the  earth  by  167,000  miles  in  every  direction.  If 
you  had  a  ball  which  would  just  fit  in  the  track  of 
the  moon,  and  stuck  it  all  full  of  pins  167,000  miles 
long,  you  would  have  the  size  of  the  sun. 

SIRIUS,  THE    STAR, 

is  324  times  as  large  as  the  sun,  and  so  are  many 
other  stars.  Now,  the  most  distant  star  in  the  largest 
telescope  cannot  be  at  the  edge  of  the  universe. 
Why  ?  It  must  be  in  the  middle.  It  must  be  bal- 
anced by  exactly  as  much  attraction  on  one  side  as 
another.  There  must  be,  above,  below,  beyond 
that  star,  the  same  stupendous  array  of  worlds,  and 
each  relatively  outer  star,  aye,  even  the  star  on  the 


446  THE  FUTURE    LIFE. 

farther  side  of  that  outer  star,  must  in  its  turn,  be 
held  in  the  same  magnificent  and  awful  suspension. 
So  forever.  We  actually  have  Infinity  forced  on 
our  reason.  Eternity  is  the  correlative  and  co-exis- 
tent necessity  of  infinity.  Infinity,  Eternity,  Immor- 
tality, become  the  solemn  Trinity  confronting  the 
physical  as  well  as  the  spiritual  world !  God  has 
even  ordained  that,  when  you  move  your  hand,  you- 
affect  the  farthest  of  His  worlds.  Can  you  not  grasp 
the  idea  that,  in  reason,  the  universe  is  boundless  ? 
Why,  then,  in  reason,  shall  it  not  be  our  infinite 
pleasure  to  study  God's  plans  forever  ?  I  know  of 
no  greater  pleasure  which  I  could  conceive.  Those 
who  ask  for  evidences, 

AS    THEY    ASK    FOR    BREAD    AND    CHEESE, 

expecting  these  great  truths  to  be  clear  to  their 
clotted  minds,  cannot  even  be  brought  to  believe 
a  house-fly  has  25,000  eyes,  constructed  each  on  the 
plan  of  our  own  ?  They  will  hardly  believe  an 
unseen  force  flows  through  the  magnetic  needle, 
turning  it  to  the  north.  If  they  had  refused,  with 
the  same  logic,  to  believe  that  A  was  A  when  they 


THE   FUTURE  LIFE.  447 

had  to  so  believe  in  order  to  learn  at  all,  they  would 
now  be  groping  in  that  stupid  illiteracy,  which,  by  a 
parity  of  reasoning,  they  so  richly  deserve. 

SHALL  GOD  WEIGH  OUT  ARCTURUS  FOR  US, 

to  exhibit  His  power  or  its  magnitude  ?  Shall  He 
speak  to  us,  and  not  only  kill  us  with  his  softer 
syllables,  but  send  our  nicely-balanced  earth  whirl- 
ing in  toward  the  sun,  and  all  because  some  fool 
hath  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God  ?  No.  Our 
reason  and  our  Oldest  Record  both  point  to  Eternity 
as  our  proper  life,  the  ripening  of  our  soul,  our 
comprehension  of  the  infinite,  and  our  better  worthi- 
ness to  praise  God's  holy  name. 

CONCLUSION. 

No  author  of  a  work  calculated  to  elevate  the 
mind  and  ennoble  the  ambitions  of  mankind  could 
aspire  to  a,  higher  climax ;  no  writer  of  a  series  of 
admonitions,  in  escaping  "a  lame  and  impotent 
conclusion,"  could  rest  more  calmly  than  he  who, 
having  built  his  tower  upon  the  solid  duties  of  tP-day, 


448 


THE  FUTURE    LIFE. 


peers  out  with  the  great  lenses  of  Religion,  into  the 
hopes  of  the  future— 


"  Past  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time, 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze." 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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